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Maclnre & Macdcmald, G-las&> 




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AlLlZMiiO)IlIR WHM®W 9 

The American Ornithologist. 




stsdifacti 

JOHN HENDER SON, 
18 4 4 



o 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 

OF 

ALEXANDER WILSON: 

ALSO HIS 

JOURNALS, LETTERS, ESSAYS, 

ETC., 
NOW FIRST COLLECTED: 



ILLUSTRATED BY 



CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY NOTES, 



EXTENDED MEMOIR OF HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS, 
AND A GLOSSARY. 



— - >-- '•' , 



BELFAST: 

PUBLISHED BY JOHN HENDERSON; 

olivee and boyd, edinburgh; griffin and co., and 

a. rutherglen, glasgow; murray and stewart, 

paisley; darton and clark, and thomas 

arnold and co., london. 



, W sf 



I 



CONTENTS. 



The small letters in the table of contents to the poems, de- 
note in which of the editions enumerated in our preface they 
first appeared respectively. Those marked a belong to the author's 
first edition, 1790 ; those having b were added in his second edi- 
tion, 1791 ; those marked c appeared in the edition of 1814; those 
d in the edition of 1816 ; and those marked e have never, till noW, 
been included in any edition. 

PAGE. 

Preface, ........... . . . vii 

Memoir of Wilson, . xiii 

POETICAL WORKS. 

Morning: scene, a Barn, & 1 

Alexis' Complaint, a 4 

Epistle to Mr. David Brodie, a 7 

Ode for the Birth-day of our immortal Scottish Poet, . *> 9 

The Shepherdess' Dream, a 11 

Thoughts in a Church-yard, a 13 

Verses to the Memory of an engaging Youth, . . a 15 

First Epistle to Mr. James Kennedy, . . . . a 15 

First Epistle to Mr. James Dobie, a 17 

Elegy on the Death of W. Wotherspoon, . . . a 19 

The Fly and Leech, a Fable, . . . . . . a 22 

The Pack, . . a 26 

Character drawn from Life, . . . . . a 30 

Thunder Storm, . . . . ' . . . . a 31 

Elegy on the long expected Death of a wretched Miser, a 34 

A Morning Adventure, a 37 

Day-break: scene, the Town, . . . . . . a 39 

The Monkey and Bee : a Fable, to a young author, . a 40 

Elegy, . . .... . . . . b 42 

Elegy on an unfortunate Tailor, . . . . . a 44 

First Epistle to Mr. Andrew Clark, . . . . a 47 

Second Epistle to Mr. James Dobie, . . . . a 51 

Invocation, . . . a 53 

To the Famishing Bard, from a brother Skeleton, . . a 55 

Epistle to Mr. Thomas Wotherspoon, . . . . a 57 

Happiness ; an Ode, a 59 

Death . ..... . . . . a 62 

To Mr. , with a Satirical Poem, . . . . a 66 

Apollo and the Pedlar, a Tale, a 67 

Evening; an Ode, a 70 

Lochwinnoch ; a Descriptive Poem, . . . . a 71 
To Delia, on her insisting to know who was the subject of 

a certain Panegyric, a 82 






© 



IV 



CONTENTS. 




An Expostulatory Addresstothe Ragged Spectre, Poverty, 

The Wasp's Revenge ; a Fable, 

Eppie and the Deil ; a Tale, . 

Epistle to Mr. J. B , . 

Lines written on a Summer Evening, 

A Character, 

To the Hon. William M'Dowal, of Garthland, on his re- 
turn from Parliament, July, 1791, . 

Verses addressed to the Author of The Sailor and Louse, 

Verses on the Death of a favourite Spaniel, maliciously 
poisoned, 

To a Sealed Letter, . , . 

On a departed Drunkard, 

Verses, occasioned by seeing two men sawing timber in 
an open field, in defiance of a furious storm, . 

The Disconsolate Wren, . 

Second Epistle to Mr. Andrew Clark, .... 

Rabby's Mistake ; a true Story, 

Callamphitre's Elegy, . 

Epistle to Mr. Ebenezer Picken, 

First Epistle to Mr. William Mitchell, . 

To Dr. Taylor of Paisley; written when sick, 

Eusebus ; a real character, . . . . 

Second Epistle to Mr. James Kennedy, . 

Despondence ; a Pastoral Ode, . . . 

Ossian's Lament ; from Macpherson's Translation, 

Elegy ; addressed to a young Lady, . • . • 

The Laurel Disputed, 

Ode, .... 

The Suicide, . . ... 

Hardyknute ; or the Battle of Largs, .... 

A Midnight Adventure, . . • • , 

Rab and Ringan ; a Tale, 

Watty and Meg, 

The Tears of Britain, . . 

Poetical Letter to William Duncan, .... 

The Loss o' the Pack; a true Tale, . 

Prayer, addressed to Jove, the God of Thunder, during 
the late hot weather, 

Epistle to Mr. Charles Orr, . . ' . 

Address to Calder Banks, . . . . 

Epistle to a Brother Pedlar, . . ... 

The Cruelty of Revenge, a Tale, 

Second Epistle to Mr. William Mitchell, 

Third Epistle to Mr. William Mitchell, 

The Solitary Tutor, . . . . 

The Shark ; or Lang Mills detected, .... 

The Hollander ; or Leight Weight, 



83 
83 



a 86 



91 
93 
93 

94 
• 95 

99 
101 
103 
106 
111 
114 
114 
115 
118 
119 
121 
123 
129 
130 
134 
140 
146 
149 
155 
161 
164 

167 
169 
171 
171 
173 
174 
177 
181 
187 
191 



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<§>- 



=® 



CONTENTS. V 

Hab's Door ; or the Temple of Terror, . . . . e 195 

The Insulted Pedlar, e 198 

Address to the Synod of G -w and A— r, . . . e 203 

The Foresters ; descriptive of a pedestrian journey to the 

Falls of Niagara, e 208 

The American Blue Bird, . . . . . . c 277 

The Humming Bird, d 279 

The Baltimore Bird, c 279 

The Fish-Hawk, or Osprey, e 280 

The Tyrant Fly-catcher, or King Bird, . . . d 282 

Dirge, * 284 

Hymn I, . . , d 285 

Hymn II, d 285 

Hymn III, <* 286 

Hymn IV, . . . d 286 

Hymn V, .......* 287 

Hymn VI, d 287 

Hymn VII, ............ 4 288 

Epitaph on auld Janet, a 288 

Epigram, . ... *> 289 

Epigram, addressed to a Friend, a 290 

Ode, a 290 

To the Curious ; an Enigma. a 291 

Verses to a Stationer, a 292 

Epitaph on John Allan, e 292 

Connel and Flora, e 293 

Hogmenae, c 293 

The Group, a 296 

Groans from the Loom, a 298 

Matty, a 300 

My Landlady's Nose, d 301 

Auchtertool, a 302 

Jefferson and Liberty, c 304 

The Return of Spring, a 306 

Matilda, a 307 

Notes to the Poems, 309 

MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

Journal of 1789 333 

Journal of 1790, 350 

The Solitary Philosopher, 373 

Oration on the power and value of National Liberty, . 379 

Letters. 

To Mr. David Brodie.— Edinburgh, November 10, 1789, 393 
To Mr. Thomas Crichton, Paisley. — Tower of Auch- 

inbathie, September, 1790, 396 

To the same.— Haddington, November 2, 1790, . . 400 



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© — — s -r-^.--T^=====^=z-—@ 



VI CONTENTS. 

To Mr. Alexander Wilson, Paisley.— Philadelphia, 

United States, Jaly 25, 1794, 404 

To the same. — Milestown, Philadelphia county, Aug. 

22, 1798, .... * 408 

To Mr. William Bertram.— November 20, 1803, . 414 

To Mr. William Duncan; a Fragment. — 1804, . . 414 

To Mr. Lawson ; a Fragment.— March 12, 1804, . 416 

To Mr. William Bertram.— 1804, .... 417 

To the same.— May, 1804, 418 

To the same.— 1804, 418 

To the same. — Grey's Ferry, December 15, 1804, . 421 

To the same.— Union School, July, 1805, ... 423 

To the same.— November 29, 1805, .... 423 

To the same. — Saturday, January 4, 1806, . . . 424 
To his excellency Thomas Jefferson, President of the 

United States. — Kingsessing, February 6, 1806, . 424 
To Mr. William Bertram ; a Fragment. — Philadelphia, 

1807, 426 

To the same.— Boston, October 10, 1808, ... 426 
To Mr. Alexander Wilson, Paisley. — Philadelphia, 

June 15, 1809, , . . . . . . . 437 

To Mr. Lawson.— Pittsburg, February 22, 1810, . 440 
To Mr. Thomas Crichton, Paisley. — Philadelphia, 

October 28, 1811, 470 

Original Preface to the Ornithology, .... 472 

The White-Headed, or Bald Eagle, .... 474 

Verses to the Memory of Wilson, 486 

Glossary, 493 



®" 



e-- ===@ 



PREFACE : 

including wilson's peeface and dedication, and an 
account of the different editions of his poems. 



It is necessary, before mentioning the features that distinguish 
the present edition of Wilson's Poems from the former ones, to 
give some account of the previous editions of his poetical works. 
The first edition was published in the autumn of 1790, in the 
form of a handsome octavo volume of three hundred pages, en- 
titled — " Poems by Alexander Wilson, Paisley: printed by John 
Neilson, for the author." It had for a frontispiece a miserably- 
designed and badly-executed copperplate engraving, representing 
the scene in " Hardyknute," where the " wounded knight" ex- 
claims to that venerable warrior — 

" Kind, generous chieftain ! your intent pursue ; 
Here will I stay — here bid the world adieu." 

The number of copies thrown off was seven hundred ; but the 
author, by his own exertions, was unable to dispose of more than 
two hundred. The last twenty-seven pages were occupied with 
a prose " Journal," in which he narrates, in his usually graphic 
manner, his adventures when in quest of subscribers. As a 
preface, Wilson considered the following suitable : — 

" Through life, what miseries, cares, and disappointments 
daily occur to those on whom fortune seems to look unpropi- 
tious ! Hours with them are days, months seem years ; and time 
steals as sluggishly onward as if he delighted in our griefs, and 
wished to spin out our miserable existence. In such sickening 
circumstances, the mind eagerly engages in any pursuit that can 
communicate one gleam of joy, however transient — one prospect 
of pleasure, however remote. An attempt to beguile some of 
those unhappy moments, joined to an irresistible love of poetry, 
gave being to the greatest number of pieces that compose the 
following collection. And, as the intention of every publica- 
tion should be to instruct or entertain, or both, I fondly hope 
that, having endeavoured to blend the two together, to adorn 
them with the colouring of poetry, and enliven them with hu- 
mour and fancy, they may not be altogether unacceptable. 

" Poetry, notwithstanding those numerous and formidable 
volumes that now march through the land, is, in my opinion, 
long since on the decline ; and instead of its noble sentiments, 
sprightly wit, and astonishing imagery, we are of late tormented 
with the mere tinkling of childish rhymes. Should this mis- 
cellany be deservedly included among those insipid lumps, I shall 
drop my pen with a sigh, and resign the wished-for laurels to 
some more fortunate adventurer. Time, but neither the ap- 






®= 



Vlll PREFACE. 

plause of fools nor the snarling of a Zoilus, will fix the fate of 
these little pieces, the merits of which, their immediate relapse 
into oblivion, or their honourable existence two hundred years 
hence, shall determine. However, as I have not a doubt but 
that either from my own deficiencies, from envy, or the ignorant 
affectation of others, I may have enemies enough to encounter, I 
shall here address two species of my most formidable antagonists, 
of whom a certain train of stiff, upright, formal, square and 
rule critics shall have the preference. 

" Methinks I see one of these dogmatic pedants poring over 
this book, wrying his mouth with every revolving leaf — ever and 
anon muttering to himself the expressive monosyllable, 'stuff!' 
Ten thousand unpardonable faults, that escape even the judicious, 
his penetrating eye discovers. ' See ! here an apostrophe is 
omitted. — What a transposition of grammar ! — This expression 
should and ought to have been, according to all just and equita- 
ble rules of grammar, enclosed, confined, or put between two 
parenthesis.' The pedant possessed of such a narrow soul, may 
be justly likened to another of his kind, inspecting through a 
microscope the shining surface of a needle ; to every other eye 
it glitters smooth and polished, but to his seems nothing else 
than a coarse, rugged piece of deformity. Not that I would here 
be understood to depreciate that useful branch of learning, 
or justify a loose incorrect mode of writing : far from it. 
But let those, whose deepest observations and most powerful 
objections consist of misplaced commas, superfluous conjunc- 
tions, unnecessary repetitions, and such truly important points 
— I say, let them, in the midst of their exclamations, con- 
sider how little I wrong them, and how much they are indebted 
to my very faults. Had I never deviated from their mathemati- 
cal lines, how many glorious opportunities would they have lost 
of displaying to the world the excellence of that deep erudition 
which they certainly possess. Let me, however, seriously ask 
them— would they, for the misplacing of one dish at table, lose 
the enjoyment of their dinner ? If not, never let the unfortunate 
slip of a grammatical error prejudice them against a whole 
piece ; and let them be content, if in one instance I have kept to 
their rules ; for, in plain English, allow me to say, them I never 
did intend to please, and their applause I would not hesitate to 
consider so much ridicule. 

" As for those, whose judgment, knowledge, taste, and impar- 
tiality, justly entitle them to the appellation of critics, — to you 
with diffidence, I submit the following pieces. To defy you, 
would be, no doubt, to arouse the indignant lion, and seal my own 
destruction. Yet think not that I shall here abjectly kneel — 
beseech your gracious clemency — profess my own insignificancy 
— and tremble for your sentence. No ; all I request from you or 
the world is simply this : peruse with impartiality the following 

@. - -r ==^==== ======= =-— ^ @ 



=@ 



PREFACE. IX 

pages, give merit its praise where you find it, and pity rather 
than exult with savage joy over those frailties to which every 
mortal is liable, — ever generously considering, that 'to err is 
human, to forgive, divine.' " 

"Paisley, July 22, 1790." 

The second edition, considerably improved, made its appear- 
ance in the succeeding year. The title-page was somewhat dif- 
ferent from that of its predecessor, and stood as follows : — 
" Poems, Humorous, Satirical, and Serious, by Alexander 
Wilson. Edinburgh : printed for the author, and sold by P. 
Hill, 1791." This edition is greatly different from the first; 
the following ten pieces, which appeared in the first, were now 
judiciously omitted : — " Address to Calder Banks," "Epistle to 
a Brother Pedlar," "The Cruelty of Revenge," " Auchtertool," 
" Epitaph on Auld Janet," " Second Epistle to Mr. William 
Mitchell," " To the Curious," " Third Epistle to Mr. William 
Mitchell," "Verses to a Stationer," and an " Ode," beginning 
" Loud roaring winter now is o'er." 

Substituted for these were the following poems, greatly su- 
perior in merit : — " Ode for the birth-day of our immortal Scot- 
tish poet," " Elegy," " Eppie and the Deil," " To the Hon. 
William M'Dowal," "Epigram," beginning, " I asked a poor 
favourite of Phcebus t'other night," " Despondence," " Ossian's 
Lament," " The Laurel Disputed," and " Elegy addressed to a 
Young Lady." 

This great change was effected by merely cancelling a number 
of pages of the remaining five hundred unsold copies of the first 
edition, and substituting newly printed pages of corresponding 
numbers. He appears to have taken considerable pains, and 
had resource to a curious shift to conceal from the public this 
melancholy evidence of the unsuccessful sale of his volume. — 
On the last page of the work was the word ".Finis" in large 
type ; and to save the reprinting of this page — as he wished 
more pages added, and the word from being seen— he had im- 
pressed, by the hand, a stamp of a round pattern upon the top 
of this word, so as to obliterate and make it illegible. How far 
he succeeded in his intention, is not exactly known ; but the 
acute observer, by examining page 300 of the " second edition," 
will still perceive stubborn "Finis" appearing enviously through 
the figure, as if in mockery of the poor author ! The thirty-two 
pages added contained a continuation to his curious prose 
" Journal," describing the varied receptions he encountered from 
the subscribers to his first edition, when delivering their copies. 
He also added a new feature to the work, by having the follow- 
ing manly dedication : — 



®= 



X PREFACE. 

*' To the Hon. Wm. M'Dowal, Esq., of Garthland, Member of 
Parliament : 

" May it please your honour, 

" A consideration of those amiable virtues that dignify your 
character— the singular services you have done this part of 
North Britain, as their faithful representative— and the appro- 
bation you were pleased to bestow on these poems at their first 
appearance, have encouraged me to usher them once more into 
the world, under the protection of your honour's respectable and 
much beloved name. 

" The heroic virtues of the patriot — the tender feelings of 
sympathizing pity, and the glowing effusions of gratitude, good- 
ness, and generosity, have ever been the darling themes of the 
poet. To espouse the cause of suffering innocence, and call 
forth merit from the solitary gloom of obscurity— to encourage 
trade — to extend commerce — to enable the labouring rustic to 
see his fields waving with luxuriant plenty, are actions worthy 
of the best of men, and best of beings. Of these endearing 
qualities, every tongue confesses you to be possessed, and every 
heart exults to join in your applause. For these you have the 
most unbounded acknowledgments, and warmest blessings of 
your country. These bid me look up to your honour as the fos- 
terer of worth and the friend of genius, and encourage me to 
lay these juvenile attempts humbly at your feet. They are all 
the tokens I have to offer, and the only methods by which I can 
express my sincere affection and deep veneration for your per- 
son and distinguished abilities. 

" That you may long live to maintain that dignity, and enjoy 
those honours to which you are so justly entitled as a lover of 
your country, is the sincere wish and earnest prayer of him who 
is, with the most profound respect, 

'* May it please your honour, 

" Your honour's much obliged, 
" And devoted humble servant, 

" Alexander Wilson. 

"Seedhills of Paisley, Aug. 22, 1791." 

Wilson met with no better success in disposing of this edition 
than the former ; and he never afterwards published another vo- 
lume of his miscellaneons poems : and twenty -three years elapsed 
before any other edition did appear. 

In 1814, Mr. Robert Smith, bookseller in Paisley, published 
a collection of the minor poems in one small volume, with little 
additional matter from what had appeared in the two former 
editions ; however, from the incorrectness of the work, it deserves 
no notice, save that it contained one or two pieces, American and 
British, which had been issued by the author in pamphlets. 

The third edition appeared in 1816, in one neat volume, under 



=@ 



PREFACE. XI 

the title of "Poems by Alexander Wilson, author of 'American 
Ornithology,' with an account of his life and writings." It was 
published by Mr. Hugh Crichton, bookseller, Paisley, and edited 
by Dr. Whyte. The "life of the author," prefixed to the vo- 
lume, was also undertaken by that gentleman, but he unfortu- 
nately dying before the work was far advanced in the press, the 
article was executed by his partner in business, Dr. Robert Watt, 
author of the " Bibliotheca Britannica." This edition, though 
not containing many of Wilson's poems, reflects great credit on 
the editors — for the correctness and good taste displayed in the 
selection, and the excellently written memoir of Wilson, form- 
ing an introduction to the work. 

The next and last volume of his poems, prior to the present 
one, was a reprint of his largest poem, " The Foresters," pub- 
lished by J. Frazer, bookseller, Paisley, in 1825, which has never, 
till now, been included in any collection of his poetic writings — 
owing to its length and the comparative smallness of the editions. 
The merits of this poem being of a superior order, its insertion 
must greatly enhance the present work.* 

It now remains only to mention the present edition, the most 
distinguished feature of which is, that it contains the whole of 
the poems given in the former editions ; and is still further en- 
hanced by having a considerable number of poems, never till 
now included amongst his poetical works. It will also be found 
to contain the little pieces which appeared in the " American 
Ornithology," which pieces, to the admirers of our bard, have 
the peculiar interest of being the latest poetic compositions of 
their amiable author. 

Another great difference of the present from former editions, 
is its illustration by many critical and explanatary notes. The 
information embodied in these have been procured with consi- 
derable care and trouble, and adds, as no former edition had 
notes, a feature peculiar to the present work. 

We have been indebted to various sources, public and private, 
and to one individual particularly, the late Mr. Thomas Crichton, 
to whose memory we feel grateful for the kind services rendered 
us, a short time before his sudden death. Our note regarding 
Ebenezer Picken and W. Wotherspoon, are taken, with some 
alterations, from his Biographical Sketches of Wilson ; and 
to Sir W. Jardine's edition of the "American Ornithology," 
we owe part of our note to the "Disconsolate Wren." The 



* We must not forget to include in our list, a little edition, 
contemporary with our own, and published by John Henderson, 
of Belfast, as one of his cheap series of the Scottish Poets. It 
contains the whole of Wilson's poems, reprinted from our text, 
with the present memoir. It is very neatly got up, and withal, 
cheap ; so that the works of our poet may be within the reach of 
the humblest classes. — Ed. 



:@ 



@ r ' . — . — — =@ 

Xii PREFACE. 

edition of .1816, and Sir W. Jardine's memoir of Wilson, have 
aided us in our note to the "Laurel Disputed;" and to the 
" Paisley Magazine," we are obliged for the. notes to " A Morn- 
ing Adventure," and," Elegy on the Unfortunate Tailor," from 
which work these two notes are partly compiled. 

The memoir of Wilson, at present given, has been carefully 
collated and compiled from the most authentic sources, with 
scrupulous fidelity to truth ; and it Will be evident to those ac- 
quainted with the life of Wilson, that a great deal of erroneous 
information, hitherto given respecting his early years, has been 
swept away, and the most correct account supplied, of that in- 
teresting period of his life. This we have been enabled to give, 
as also the account of his parents, from original information de- 
rived from a private source ; and the editor hopes, that his sole 
intention — that of presenting an accurate narrative of the poet's 
life and writings, with but few comments of his own, rather leav- 
ing the reader to form his own opinions — has been in some mea- 
sure realized. 

A glossary, explaining the meanings of words peculiar to Wil- 
son, and the language in which most of his earlier productions 
are written, has been considered necessary for the benefit of the 
reader. This we have added to the work; but its utility and 
merits need not be mentioned, as they, being considerable, must 
be evident to every reader. To Dr. Andrew Crawfurd, of Loch- 
winnoch, we beg leave to return our grateful thanks, for his valu- 
able services in this department of our editorial labours. 

In conclusion, we have only to notice Wilson's miscellaneous 
prose writings, which, like the poems, are now for the first time 
collected, with considerable care and trouble. These, we think, 
add peculiar interest to the present work. They have been ga- 
thered from various sources ; some from published copies, and a 
number from the original manuscripts. Such passages as related 
to anything personal or local, we have endeavoured to explain 
by marginal notes ; and to almost every letter has been added such 
information as was deemed necessary. The prose " Journal," for- 
merly mentioned, has also been included ; and a few verses, by 
different writers, to the memory of Wilson, likewise added. 

The task, which the editor undertook as a labour of love, 
and which has now been brought to a conclusion, under great 
difficulties and disadvantages, is with great respect submitted to 
the public. 

THE EDITOR. 

Paisley, May, 1845. 



@ = 



1 



MEMOIR OF WILSON. 



Alexander Wilson, author of " Watty and Meg/' and 
"American Ornithology," was bom in the Seedhills of 
Paisley, on the 6th of July, 1766;* and was the fifth child 
of a family of six, all of whom died in their infancy, ex- 
cept two daughters and the subject of this menioir. His 
mother, whose maiden name was Mary M'Nab, came when 
very young from her native place, the Eow, in Dumbarton* 
shire ; and is represented as having been a woman of a 
superior order, handsome in person, and very enthusiastic 
in religion: and who probably aided not a little in the 
elevation of the mind of her son. His father, who bore 
the same name as himself, was a weaver by trade ; and in 
his better days, possessed a number of looms and em- 
ployed journeymen. He also, at one period of his life, 
carried on a small distillery, which he had erected at the 
foot of the garden attached to his dwelling house, on the 
banks of the river Cart at Seedhills. He was consi- 
dered one of the wealthier class of his sphere in life; 
and was a man of sober and industrious habits, endowed 
with an active and a sagacious mind, and highly respected 
by all who knew him, for his strict honesty and superior 
intelligence. In personal appearance he is said to have 
greatly resembled his son ; being tall, vigorous, inclining 
to the slender, rather than the athletic, and having a 
marked intellectual expression of countenance. He came 

* The house in which he was born, was some years ago taken 
down, and another of the same height built in its place ; forming 
one of a row of two-story houses running at right angles with the 
river Cart . It commanded a fine view of the river below the falls, 
and overlooked the Hamels — the highest part of a range of rocks 
or craigs over which the river rushes, forming a beautiful and 
romantic waterfall. These rocks were a favourite haunt of Wil- 
son, in his boyhood ; and are at this day, for the considerable 
facility which they afford for bathing, a great resort of the youths 
of Paisley. The house is distinguished from the others by a 
plain marble tablet, embedded in its front wall, bearing the fol- 
lowing inscription : — " This tablet was erected in 1841, by David 
Anderson, Perth, to mark the birth-place of Alexander Wilson. 
Paisley Poet and American Ornithologist." 

--^r--- - - . r=rr^- : 



© — ~ — ? =. © 

Xiv MEMOIR OF WILSON. 

to Paisley, at an early age, from the place of his birth — 
Campbeltown, in Argyle shire, whither his grandfather had 
fled from his home, near Lochwinnoch, in Renfrewshire, 
like many other fugitive covenanters, during the religious 
persecution in the middle of the seventeenth century. 
He outlived his eminent son, and died on the 5th of 
June, 1816, at the venerable age of eighty-eight. 

It appears that Wilson, at an early age, was intended 
by his parents, particularly his mother, for the church ; 
and to their pious intention, he himself, in his poem 
entitled the " Solitary Tutor," which is certaintly descrip- 
tive of himself, alludes in the following pleasing lines : — 

" His parents saw with partial fond delight, 
Unfolding genius crown their fostering care, 

And talked with tears of that enrapturing sight, 
When clad in sable gown, with solemn air, 
The walls of God's own house should echo back his prayer." 

Accordingly, with this laudable design in view, the future 
poet and ornithologist, attended from an early age the 
grammar school of his native town, till about the period 
of his apprenticeship to the weaving trade, which was the 
principal business of his native place, and for which it is 
now so widely famed. But, unfortunately for Wilson, and 
his purposed advancement in life, his mother suddenly 
died, when he had scarcely attained his tenth year, and 
all his prospects of filling that situation to which his 
ambition was taught to aspire, and which is so dear to the 
heart of the Scottish peasant, were completely overcast. 
In the above-mentioned poem, Wilson, in the conclusion 
of his beautiful address to Hope, evidently alludes to the 
feelings of his amiable mother when on her death-bed — 

" Dear smiling Hope ! to thy enchanting hand, 

What cheering joys, what extacies we owe ! 
Touched by the magic of thy fairy wand, 

Before us spread, what heavenly prospects glow ! 
Through life's rough thorny wild we lab'ring go, 

And though a thousand disappointments grieve. 
E'en from the grave's dark verge we forward throw 

Our straining, wishful eyes on those we leave, 
And with their future fame our sinking hearts relieve !" 

His father, being left embarrassed with the charge of a 
young family — to administer to whose wants required the 



©■ — — - -© 

MEMOIR OF WILSON.* XV 

tender cares which women alone can give, soon entered 
into a second matrimonial engagement. His second wife, 
whose name was Katherine Brown, was very respectable 
and industrious, and had been formerly married to aperson 
of the name of Urie, to whom she had children. To these 
her second husband became a kind guardian ; and his 
circumstances becoming rather straightened, by the neces- 
sary expenses of a rising family, all his intentions of 
giving his son a liberal education were completely frus- 
trated. But the education which he had already received, 
although limited, had given him, even at this early 
age, a love of poetry, a taste for literature, and an un- 
quenchable thirst for knowledge, which more or less in- 
fluenced his character in after life. Of this he himself 
was aware, as appears, from the following passage in one 
of his letters, written in 1811, when he had become, with 
unparalleled perseverence, the distinguished ornitholo- 
gist : — s( The publication of the ornithology, though it has 
swallowed up all the little I have saved, has procured me 
the honour of many friends, eminent in this country, and 
the esteem of the public at large ; for which I have to 
thank the goodness of a kind father, whose attention to 
my education in early life, as well as the books then put 
into my hands, first gave my mind a bias towards relish- 
ing the paths of literature, and the charms and magnifi- 
cence of nature. These, it is true, particularly the latter, 
have made me a wanderer in life, but they have also 
enabled me to support an honest and respectable situation 
in the world, and have been the sources of almost all my 
enjoyments." 

In his thirteenth year, Wilson was bound apprentice, 
as a weaver, to William Duncan, then residing in the 
Seedhills, who had previously married his eldest sis- 
ter; and soon after this period his father, in hopes of 
bettering his circumstances, removed with his family to 
the Tower of Auchenbathie, ten miles west from Paisley, 
in the vicinity of Lochwinnoch; and became, besides 
carrying on his former business of a weaver, the occupier 
of small grazing farm, but with little success. However, 
he remained at Auchenbathie till the Spring of 1790, and 
then returned to Paisley, and resided in a house, yclept 
the Douket, at Seedhills, till his death. 

=@ 



®= 



XVI • MEMOIR OF WILSON. 

The duration of Wilson's apprenticeship was three 
years, during which time he lived with his employer, most 
faithfully fulfilling his engagement. At the end of the 
original indenture, hearing date, July 31st, 1779, the 
following lines are seen in his own hand- writing : — 

" Be't kent to a' the warld in rhyme, 
That wi' right meikle wark an' toil, 

For three lang years I've ser't my time, 
Whiles feasted wi' the hazel oil. 

August, 1782."* 

These lines are the earliest authentic production of Wil- 
son; and though possessing no intrinsic merit, nor 
deserving of notice, save as a curious trifle of their cele- 
hrated author, show that, at this early period of his life, 
he had commenced the writing of verses. However, it is 
a thing not to he deplored, that this is the only specimen 
of his early writings: for seldom does the youthful com- 
positions of even our greatest poets indicate the powers 
of mind, which they afterwards display in the works of 
their more mature days. 

For four years after the end of his apprenticeship, he 
continued working as a journeyman weaver, sometimes 
residing in Paisley, and sometimes in Lochwinnoch ; and 
latterly with William Duncan, his brother-in-law, who had 
shortly after the termination of Wilson's apprenticeship, 
taken up his residence at Queensferry, on the banks of the 
Forth. During these years Wilson composed the greater 
portion of his earlier poems, many of which relate to the 
beautiful scenery and incidents connected with Lochwin- 
noch, in which elegantly situated village he was resident 
nearly two years of this humble period. It was also about 
this time, that he made his first appearance in public as 
a poet, by occasionally contributing some little pieces to 
the "Glasgow Advertiser." These soon gained him a 
little popularity, particularly among his townsmen; for 
his pieces, it is said, speedily became the " nightly sub- 
jects of discussion in the clubs and book-shops of Pais- 
ley." He next made an important change in his circum- 
stances, and which has been reckoned an era in his life. 

* This valuable document is now in the possession of James 
Clark, Esq., of Chapel House, Paisley. 






:-© 



MEMOIR OF WILSON. XVil 

In the year 1786, William Duncan, who was rather too 
prodigal, to better his fortunes, set out on a mercantile 
expedition, over the eastern parts of Scotland; and in 
this he was accompanied by Wilson, now in his twen- 
tieth year. The sedentary life of a weaver had become so 
uncongenial to his mind, that he was glad of an oppor- 
tunity of leaving it; and he now resolved, to use his own 
words, in a song which he had sometime before written, 
and entitled " Groans from the Loom," — no longer 

" To hing like a scarecrow in rags, 

And live o'er a seat-tree on nought. 
Good Gods ! shall a mortal with legs, 

So low uncomplaining be brought ?" 

The weaving was now completely abandoned, and for a 
period of nearly three years, he traversed his native coun- 
try in the character of a pedlar. His course was not how- 
ever solely determined by considerations of gain. He cared 
much more to view the ever pleasing face of nature, than 
to display his muslins; and his feelings were those of 
wild rapture, on escaping the toilsome loom — toilsome at 
least to him, who desired to roam in perfect freedom over 
the glorious world of nature, 

" Finding tongues in trees, books in running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing." 

" These are pleasures," says he, in his journal, "which the 
grovelling sons of interest, and the grubs of the world, know 
as little of, as the miserable spirits, doomed to everlasting 
darkness, know of the glorious regions and eternal de- 
lights of Paradise." In his wanderings, he often went 
far out of his way to visit classic ground : and at one time 
spoke with warmth of a visit he had paid to the village of 
Athelstenford, at one time the residence of Blair, author 
of " The Grave," a poem of which Wilson was passion- 
ately fond, — and afterwards, of Home, the author of the 
celebrated tragedy of " Douglas." 

During this period of unsettled life he composed many 
of his poems, and now commenced preparing materials 
for publishing. Accordingly he made an engagement 
with John Neilson, printer, in Paisley — got prospectuses 
printed, and on the 17th of September, 1789, set out from 
Edinburgh, to dispose of his goods, and solicit subscribers 

©— == - — ^,=.: : ^ 



©^ 



XV111 MEMOIR OF WILSON. 

for his forth-coming volume : or to use his own expres- 
sion, in a journal which he kept during that expedition, 
and published in his volume — " to make one bold push 
for the united interests of pack and poems." He traversed 
the eastern coast of Scotland, and in few weeks returned 
to Paisley, and gave to the world an octavo volume, 
entitled, " Poems, by Alexander Wilson ;" the preface of 
which is dated, Paisley, July 22, 1790. From his journal 
we learn, that his success was far from being encouraging, 
and that he met with many slights and disappointments. 
However, although he says in the conclusion of his 
journal, that he has "measured the height of a hundred 
stairs, and explored the recesses of twice that number of 
miserable habitations" in one day, and only gained by it, 
" two shillings of worldly pelf," he, nevertheless, retraced 
his steps, having with him copies of his work to supply 
his subscribers. After meeting with no better success 
than before, and with many more disappointments, and 
not being able to dispose of his poems, he returned to 
Paisley. He was weary of his unsettled life, and now 
resolved to renounce the character of poet and pedlar ; 
and in a short time afterwards he resumed his former 
occupation of weaving, in his favourite village — Loch- 
winnoch. 

He did not, however, remain long quietly settled in 
that place; for although he had forsworn the profitless 
and unsuccessful characters of poet and pedlar, yet he was 
far from being reconciled to his employment, and only 
wanted a favourable opportunity of again leaving it. An 
opportunity was soon given. His friend, Kennedy, in 
Edinburgh, informed him by letter, that a certain literary 
class in the metropolis had formed a public debating 
society, called the Forum; and that on the 14th of 
April, 1791, the following question was purposed for dis- 
cussion : — " Whether have the exertions of Allan Ramsay 
or Kobert Fergusson done more honour to Scottish poetry." 
Wilson, on learning this, eagerly embraced the oppor- 
tunity of again making his appearance in public as <a 
poet, in a manner so congenial to his love of honest 
independent fame. He had never read the poems of 
Fergusson, and had only two weeks to prepare himself: 
but he borrowed a copy of the work from his friend 



--© 



MEMOIR OF WILSON. XIX 

Brodie — made up his mind on the subject — composed a 
piece of considerable length — laboured harder than ever 
at his loom, to provide the necessary expenses for the 
journey — and arrived in Edinburgh, just in time to take 
a part in the debate. He appeared in the character of 
a Scottish farmer, or to use his own words, "Not for him- 
self, but for an honest carl," and with enthusiasm deli- 
vered his " Laurel Disputed," defending the unfortunate 
Fergusson. This was contrary to the opinion of the 
audience ; but his poem seems to have gained him consi- 
derable esteem and favour, and before leaving the city, he 
composed and recited two other poetical pieces, namely, 
" Rab and Ringan," and the much admired tale of ki The 
Loss o' the Pack." He also published, in connection with 
his young friend, Ebenezer Picken, who had espoused, in a 
smooth piece of blank verse, the merits of Ramsay — a 
pamphlet, entitled, " The Laurel Disputed ; or the merits 
of Allan Ramsay and Robert Fergusson contrasted, iu two 
poetical essays, by E. Picken and A. Wilson." 

He likewise, it appears, formed, while in Edinburgh, 
some literary connection with Dr. Anderson, to whose 
"Bee" he contributed some poetical pieces, and a prose 
essay, entitled, the " Solitary Philosopher ;" but these, 
although bringing some increase in fame, brought him 
none in wealth, and he quietly returned home, when his 
funds were exhausted. But he had better hopes ; and on 
his return, he was induced, from the favourable reception 
he had received in Edinburgh, to publish a second edition 
of his poems. Accordingly, a second edition, entitled, 
"Poems, Humorous, Satirical, and Serious," with some 
additions, was immediately issued, having a dedication to 
W. M'Dowal, Esq., of Gartland, dated from the Seediiills 
of Paisley, August 22, 1791. 

Again Wilson departed to dispose of his volume, but, 
like its predecessor, it was not favourably received; and the 
author, with his hopes frustrated, had to return home, with 
the sad alternative of again plying the murmuring shuttle. 
His reception may, in some measure, be attributed to his 
too early publishing; and of this he, in latter years, felt 
to be true, from what follows having been written, by him- 
self, in the blank leaf of a copy of his first edition: — " I 
published these poems when only twenty-two: an age 
b 



®, 



XX MEMOIR OF WILSON. 

more abundant in sail than ballast. Reader, let this 
soften the rigour of criticism a little. Dated, Grey's Ferry, 
July 6, 1804." 

Wilson, at this period, came nigh securing an intimacy 
with Burns. Soon after the poems of the latter were 
published, Wilson wrote to the author, objecting to cer- 
tain of them on account of their improper tendency, and 
stating his sentiments with freedom, although no friend- 
ship existed between them. Burns returned for answer, 
that he usually paid no attention to communications of 
this kind, being so accustomed to them; but, that as 
Wilson was do ordinary man, he would depart from his 
usual course, — and then vindicated the pieces in question. 
Shortly afterwards, Wilson went to Ayrshire to visit Burns, 
and on his return spoke in rapturous terms of their in- 
terview. The credulous Cromeck, in his "Remains of 
Burns," gives a different version of this incident, and 
attributes the termination of the intimacy between the 
two poets, to Wilson's envy of Burns. This being shown 
to Wilson by one of his American friends, he in the most 
decided language contradicted the injurious imputation. 

In the latter end of the year 1792, "Watty and Meg," 
his most successful poem, made its first appearance, and 
being published anonymously, it was universally attributed 
to Burns, then in the zenith of his fame. Wilson felt this 
a high, though unconscious acknowledgment of his merits 
by the public, who had so unfavourably received his former 
and avowed productions, and for a considerable time allowed 
the report to spread uncontradicted, enj oying great satisfac- 
tion. The sale of the poem was so rapid, that Mr. Neilson, 
the printer, sold in the first few weeks, the vast number of 
100,000, and it is said that the author only received twelve 
copies. But we are rather inclined to doubt this state- 
ment; and had it not been well known, we never would 
have alluded to it, for Mr. Neilson was always very gene- 
rous to Wilson, as can be proved by extracts from some 
of his letters, but our limits forbid us entering any further 
into the subject* 

* Mr. Neilson, the printer, it is said, declared after he had been 
told that the author had given out this report, — " It is all true ; 
but, did he tell that I became security for a coat to him. I sup- 
pose not ; well, J had to pay for it. 



:© 



MEMOIR OF WILSON. XXI 

The next passage in our poet's life, is the unfortunate 
circumstance of his writing the personal satire, entitled 
*•' The Shark ; or Lang Mills Detected." The occasion of 
the poem was a dispute between the manufacturers and 
the weavers of Paisley ; and Wilson, ever willing to suc- 
cour the injured and oppressed, (as the weavers consi- 
dered themselves at that memorable time) required no 
inducement to join the latter. The poem was imme- 
diately written, and handed round in manuscript. 

This dark incident in the bright career of our natural- 
ist, has been variously told by all his biographers; some 
extenuating, others condemning him, and others with 
feelings of pity, merely mentioning the circumstance, and 
slightly passing it over. But, as "the faults of great 
men are the consolation of only dunces," and, as many 
inaccurate accounts of this affair are circulating, no apo- 
logy need be made for giving publicity to the following 
account, which is the most consonant to truth, and puts 
the matter in a true light. It is from the pen of William 
M'Gavin, author of the " Protestant," and who was one 
of Wilson's most intimate friends. "He wrote," says 
M'Gavin in his autobiography, "some clever pungent 
pieces of satire against some of our great manufacturers, 
which those first attacked had the good sense to overlook. 
But in one instance he had the indiscretion to send a 
copy [in M.S.] to the gentleman against whom it was di- 
rected, with an offer to suppress it for five guineas. This 
subjected him to a criminal prosecution before the sheriff, 
in which he was convicted. But his prosecutors were not 
vindictive. He suffered only a few days' imprisonment, 
and the mortification of being obliged to burn his own 
poem, on the stair fronting the jail. I was one of the few 
who witnessed the execution of his sentence with his own 
hands. Criminal as he was, such respect was paid to his 
feelings, that no notice was published of the hour of his 
punishment, and it was witnessed only by those who 
happened to be at the cross at the time." This happened 
on the 6th of Feb., 1793, at eleven o'clock, forenoon, but 
the poem was secretly published after the prosecution was 
commenced in the month of May of the preceding year. 

Many years after this, Wilson (not long before his 
death) sent for his brother David to join him in America. 



© - © 

XXii MEMOIR OF WILSON. 

David accordingly went, taking with him copies of the 
poet's satirical pieces, which he had carefully collected, 
supposing that the author would be gratified to see them 
again, and accordingly presented them to his brother. 
But Wilson no sooner saw them, than he threw them in the 
fire, saying, — " These were the follies of youth, and had I 
taken my good old fathers advice, they never would have 
seen the light." How creditable is this to Wilson's moral 
feeling and the father's good sense ! 

This unfortunate incident, associated with others, seems 
to have been the means of causing Wilson to leave his 
native land. The French revolution at this period was 
spreading its spirit over all Europe; and the bright star 
of reform, so soon afterwards dimmed with a bloody 
halo, was welcomed by the many thousands of this coun- 
try, as the joyful harbinger of universal liberty. Among 
its wild worshippers, the reformers of Paisley stood con- 
spicuously forward ; and Wilson, like many more enthu- 
siastic lovers of freedom, eagerly hailed its appearance. 
He became the advocate of those who called themselves 
the Friends of the People, entering into their cause with 
his usual zeal. 

In this state, sickened by his repeated efforts to gain 
the fame of the poet, so ardently desired, — hated by those 
who had severely felt his lash, — depressed by poverty, 
which ever haunted him as his shadow, — a marked man 
by the authorities on account of his politics, they dread- 
ing his powers, his life became so uncomfortable, that he 
formed the noble resolution of bidding farewell to his 
native country, and seeking a happier home among 
strangers in some foreign land. Like many sons of toil, 
he was not bound by very strong ties of sentiment to his 
native country; and what is a little remarkable in a poet's 
life, he never formed any attachment of the heart, such 
as bind men to their homes. It is true he had some ac- 
quaintance with a respectable female, and many letters, 
now lost, passed between them ; but Wilson was always 
sufficiently cautious to make no proposals of matrimonial 
connection, as he well knew his unsettled life prevented 
him from being able to fulfil such an engagement to 
his nice sense of honour. 

Hearing favourable accounts of America, and it being 



MEMOIR OF WILSON. XXlH 

considered as the abode of liberty, he resolved going 
there ; but with a forethought, by no means common with 
emigrants, he considered in what manner he was to live 
in a strange country. One of his schemes appears to 
have been, to qualify himself for some mercantile busi- 
ness, and for this purpose he applied to his friend, 
M'Gavin, then a schoolmaster, to be taught the branches 
of education necessary for such a situation. " He wrote," 
says M'Gavin, " a neat hand, but knew little or nothing 
of accounts. To accounts, therefore, he set himself with 
great ardour, for a part of the day, but before the next, 
something else had taken his fancy, and he never came 
back." 

Although he had resolved on going to America, he did 
not possess sufficient funds to pay his passage. Yet, with 
his usual characteristic determination, he gave up every 
other pursuit, and for four months laboured with increased 
industry at his loom, confining the expenses of his living 
during that time to one shilling a week. By this rigid 
economy he amassed the necessary sum, but no more. 
He then paid farewell visits to his most intimate acquain- 
tances, not forgetting his friend M'Gavin; and after visit- 
ing some of his favourite haunts, bade a final adieu to his 
native country. After being accompanied by the author of 
the "Protestant" to the outskirts of the town, and there 
parting, with the mutual expression of never meeting 
more, he set out on foot to Portpatrick, thence crossed to 
Belfast, and on Friday, the 23rd of May, 1794, about 
six in the morning, embarked as a deck passenger 
on board the American ship, Swift, bound for Newcastle, 
in the state of Delaware. Of his passage over, he gives 
a capital account in a letter to his father, written the day 
after landing, but our limits forbid an extract. However, 
he says that he arrived at Newcastle, in America, on the 
14th of July, accompanied by his nephew, Wm. Duncan, 
" both in good health." The passage must have been very 
uncomfortable, as he had to sleep on deck during the 
whole time, the vessel being, when he embarked, over 
crowded; but he consented to this, rather than delay his 
journey. 

Wilson began his career in the new world nearly as 
poor as he began his mortal existence. He had not a 
b2 

= — -= - 



@ — ' "■-■•■ © 

Xxiv MEMOIR OF WILSON. 

single letter of introduction, and only a few shillings in 
his pocket — and even these, it is stated, were borrowed 
from a fellow passenger. But from the feeling that he was 
in a new land, and a prospect in view of bettering his 
fortunes, all his cares were forgotten, and, with his gun 
on his shoulder, the future ornithologist directed his 
course towards Philadelphia, latterly the scene of his 
bright meteor-like career. On his course he was de- 
lighted with every thing he saw, and his attention strong- 
ly arrested by the beautiful birds which every where met 
his view. He shot one of them — a red-headed wood- 
pecker, whose beautiful plumage none can excel — and in 
his latter years he described with warmth, his delight at 
the first sight of this beautiful bird. 

On arriving at Philadelphia — distant thirty-three miles 
from Newcastle — he made a vigorous search for weaving, 
but, finding none, he made himself known to a country- 
man of his, of the name of John Aiken, a copperplate 
printer, who gave him employment at his own business. 
This new employment, however, Wilson soon gave up, 
and resumed his trade of weaving, having made an en- 
gagement with Mr. Joseph Sulivan, who lived at Penny- 
pack Creek, ten miles from the city. 

In the latter end of the year 1795, he again abandoned 
the loom, and commenced his old occupation of ped- 
lar, and in a short time traversed a considerable part of 
the state of New Jersey, meeting, however, with more suc- 
cess than he had met in his native country. During this 
expedition, he kept a journal, as he had formerly done in 
Scotland, in which he describes the manners of the 
people; and shows, from the frequent allusions to the 
feathered creation, that he was taking a deep interest in 
the nature of birds. On his return from his wanderings, 
he commenced the profession of teacher in a school near 
Frankford, in Pennsylvania. Not satisfied with his situ- 
ation, he removed to Millstown, where he remained for 
several years, faithfully discharging his duties as school- 
master of that village. To add something to his in- 
come, it is stated that he surveyed land for the farmers in 
the neighbourhood. Here he became sensible of the 
defects of his early education; and, with praiseworthy ap- 
plication, began to repair these defects, by studying with 

@ ■ —= 



© - — =- - & 

MEMOIR OF WILSON. XXV 

great perseverance at his leisure hours. In a short time 
he acquired a knowledge of mathematics, concerning 
which he knew little or nothing when he first stepped on 
the American soil. However, he was not negligent of 
other matters, and had not forgotten his political princi- 
ples, for we find him delivering an " Oration on the 
power and value of National Liberty," to a large assem- 
blage of the citizens of Millstown, on the day on which 
Mr. Jefferson was elected President, 1801. He was also 
cultivating the muse, and the date of his patriotic song, 
" Jefferson and Liberty," appeal's to be at this period. 

While Wilson resided here, he, during a summer va- 
cation from his professional duties, travelled eight hun- 
ched miles in ninety days, into the state of New York, for 
the purpose of visiting and assisting his nephew, William 
Duncan, who was residing there on a small farm, the 
purchase of which had been greatly assisted by Mr. Suli- 
van. The object of this purchase was to provide an asy- 
lum for his sister, the mother of his nephew, and her 
family of little children, who were induced to emigrate 
in hopes of bettering their circumstances. 

About the beginning of the year 1802, Wilson removed 
to the village of Bloomfield, in New Jersey, where he 
again taught a school. But soon afterwards, hearing of 
a situation more to his wishes, he applied to the trus- 
tees of the union school, in the township of Kingsessing, 
at a short distance from Grey's Ferry, on the river Schuyl- 
kill. His services were accepted, and he was thus within 
a few miles of Philadelphia. The going to this place 
proved fortunate to Wilson, as he became acquainted 
with the amiable self-taught naturalist, Wilham Bertram, 
whose residence and fine botanic garden were in the 
vicinity of his schoolhouse. The following lines from 
his beautiful poem, " The Solitary Tutor," written while 
residing here, give a faithful picture of the mind and 
pursuits of the humble schoolmaster — " a strange recluse 
and solitary wight" — during this comparatively happy 
period of his life, when his mind had not yet conceived 
the grand design of his national work: — 

" Dear, dear to him ! affection's ardent glow, 
Alas ! from all he loved for ever torn, 

======== r , 



© • — © 

I 

XXVi MEMOIR OF WILSON. 

Even now, as Memory's sad reflections flow, 
Deep grief o'erwhelms him, and he weeps forlorn. 
By hopeless thought, by wasting sorrow worn, 
Around on Nature's scenes he turns his eye, 
Charmed with her peaceful eve, her fragrant mora, 
Her green magnificence, her gloomiest sky, 
That fill the exulting soul with admiration high ! 

** One charming nymph with transport he adores— 
Fair Science, crown'd with many a figured sign ; 
Her smiles, her sweet society implores, 
And mixes jocund with the encircling Nine ; 
While Mathematics solve his dark design, 
Sweet Music soothes him with her syren strains ; 
Seraphic Poetry, with warmth divine, 
Exalts him far above terrestrial plains, 
And Painting's fairy hand his mimic pencil trains 

" Thus, peaceful pass his lonely hours away, 
Thus, in retirement from his school affairs, 
He tastes a bliss unknown to wordlings gay ; 
A soothing antidote for all his cares. 
Adoring nature's God, he joyous shares, 
With happy millions, freedom's fairest scene ; 
His evening hymn, some plaintive Scottish airs, 
BreattTd from the flute or melting violin, 
With life-inspiring airs, and wanton jigs between." 

From this period his career as the ornithologist must 
be dated; hut he had as yet entertained that branch of 
natural history in common with others, for his attention 
was equally taken up with a host of other animals. This 
cannot be better described than by giving the following 
extract from a letter to his friend Bertram: — "I some- 
times smile to think, that while others are immersed in 
deep schemes of speculation and aggrandizement, in 
building towns and purchasing plantations, I am en- 
tranced in contemplation over the plumage of a lark, 
or gazing like a despairing lover, on the lineaments of an 
owl. While others are hoarding up their bags of money, 
without the power of enjoying it, I am collecting, without 
injuring my conscience or wounding my peace of mind, 
those beautiful specimens of nature's works that are for 
ever pleasing. I have had live crows, hawks, and owls ; 
opossums, squirrels, snakes, lizards, &c, so that my 
room has sometimes reminded me of Noah's ark ; but 

ii 
© •--■ — -= = ~ '- ^ 



© ■ © 

MEMOIR OF WILSON. XXVU 

No ah had a wife in one corner of it, and, in this particu- 
lar, our parallel does not altogether tally. I receive every 
subject of natural history that is brought to me; and, 
though they do not march into my ark from all quarters, 
as they did into that of our great ancestor, yet I find 
means, by the distribution of a few fivepenny bits, to 
make them find the way fast enough. A boy not long 
ago, brought me a large basketful of crows. I expect his 
next load will be bullfrogs, if I don't soon issue orders to 
the contrary. One of my boys caught a mouse in school, 
a few days ago, and directly marched up to me with his 
prisoner. I set about drawing it the same evening, and 
all the while the pantings of its little heart showed it to 
be in the most extreme agonies of fear. I had intended 
to kill it, in order to fix it in the claws of a stuffed owl ; 
but, happening to spill a few drops of water near where 
it was tied, it lapped it up with such eagerness, and 
looked in my face with such an eye of supplicating ter- 
ror, as perfectly overcame me. I immediately restored it 
to life and liberty. The agonies of a prisoner at the 
stake, while the fire and instruments of torture are pre- 
paring, could not be more severe than the sufferings of 
that poor mouse ; and, insignificant as the object was, I 
felt at that moment the sweet sensations that mercy leaves 
in the mind when she triiunphs over cruelty." In June, 
1803, writing to a friend in Paisley, he says, " Close ap- 
plication to the duties of my profession, which I have 
followed since Nov. 1795, has deeply injured my consti- 
tution; the more so, that my rambling disposition was the 
worst calculated of any one in the world for the austere 
regularity of a teacher's life. I have had many pursuits 
since I left Scotland, — mathematics, the German lan- 
guage, music, drawing, &c. ; and I am about to make a 
collection of all our finest birds." 

It was at this period that he formed the design of his 
"American Ornithology;" but his ideas on the subject 
were but faint dawnings of the great work he afterwards 
achieved. He soon made his design known to his friends, 
who, although fully convinced of his abilities and perse- 
verance, could not seriously advise him in his undertak- 
ing, from the many difficulties which he would have to 
encoimter, being without fortune or patronage. One of 

=- ==-.= — . - e 



@ = @ 

XXV Hi MEMOIR OF WILSON. 

the greatest obstacles they considered would be the getting 
of sufficient patronage, without which to attempt a work 
of such an expensive nature, would involve him in em- 
barrassments, out of which he would never be able to 
struggle. But all objections Wilson soon overruled, 
terming the prudential maxims with which they assailed 
him, as the maxims of cold, calculating philosophy ; and 
from this moment he devoted his whole energies to the 
accomplishment of his object, in a manner truly wonder- 
ful. To bring himself into some notice, and, perhaps, 
to add something to his funds, he sent some poetical 
pieces to the "Literary Magazine," then conducted by the 
now celebrated novelist, Charles Brockden Brown. His 
"Solitary Tutor" was published in this Magazine ; but 
it does not appear, says one of his American biographers, 
that he received any remuneration for his contributions. 

In October of the year 1804, Wilson, accompanied by a 
friend and his nephew, commenced his first pilgrimage, 
by setting out on a pedestrian journey to the far-famed 
Falls of Niagara. It was too late in the season to under- 
take such a journey; and our travellers, on their return, 
were overtaken by winter, and had to travel a great part 
of the way through snow, almost knee deep. Wilson was 
more persevering than his companions in travel; one of 
them remained with his friends near the Lake Cayuga, 
and the other chose a more agreeable mode of travelling. 
But Wilson, with his hardy pride, went on alone, carry- 
ing his gun and his baggage, and reached home on the 
7th of December, after an absence of fifty-nine days, in 
the last of which he walked 47 miles, and during the 
whole time traversed 1257 miles. Shortly after his re- 
turn home he published, in the "Portfolio," his "Fo- 
resters," being a poetic narrative of his journey, and af- 
terwards in a separate form, with illustrative plates and 
notes. In this poem there are many pretty passages 
descriptive of the scenery of America — " scenes new to 
song and paths untrod before;" — and, in the following 
lines, the argument of which is, "American scenery sel- 
dom the theme of poetry," Wilson charmingly contrasts 
the magnificent and sublime scenery of that land, with the 
less pretending, though not less beautiful, scenery of his 
native country: — 

@ -= = _= = (5) 



-© 



ME3I0IR OF WILSON. XXIX 

" To Europe's shores, renowned in deathless song, 

Must all the honours of the bard belong, 

And rural Poetry's enchanting strain 

Be only heard beyond the Atlantic main ? 

What though profuse in many a patriot's praise, 

We boast a Barlow's soul-exalting lays ; 

An Humphreys, blessed with Homer's nervous glow ; 

And freedom's friend and champion in Freneau; 

Yet Nature's charms that bloom so lovely here, 

Unhailed arrive, unheeded disappear ! 

"While bare bleak heaths, and brooks of half a mile, 

Can rouse the thousand bards of Britain's isle. 

There scarce a stream creeps down its narrow bed, 

There scarce a hillock lifts its little head, 
Or humble hamlet peeps their glades among, 

But lives and murmurs in immortal song ! 

Our western world, with all its matchless floods, 

Our vast transparent lakes and boundless woods, 

Stamped with the traits of majesty sublime, 

Unhonoured weep the silent lapse of time — 

Spread their wild grandeur to the unconscious sky, 

In sweetest seasons pass unheeded by ; 

While scarce one Muse returns the songs they gave, 

Or seeks to snatch their glories from the grave !" 



At this period he writes as follows to his friend Ber- 
tram : — " Though in this tour I have had every disadvan- 
tage of deep roads and rough weather, hurried marches, 
and many other inconveniences ; yet, so far am I from 
being satisfied with what I have seen, or discouraged "by 
the fatigues which every traveller must submit to, that I 
feel more eager than ever to commence some more exten- 
sive expedition, where scenes and subjects entirely new, 
and generally unknown, might reward my curiosity ; and 
where, perhaps, my humble acquisitions might add some- 
thing to the stores of knowledge." It is worthy of remark, 
that while writing in this enthusiastic manner, like an- 
other Ledyard, anxious in pursuit of knowledge to explore 
the farthermost ends of the world, the whole amount of 
his personal property was only three quarters of a dollar, 
— little more than three shillings. Nevertheless, W r ilson 
was now determined to follow the bent of his inclination, 
and all his leisure moments were devoted to the study of 
his darling pursuit. He improved himself in drawing 

■- _ =: ^e 



=@ 



XXX MEMOIR OF WILSON. 

and colouring, and acquiring the art of etching, under the 
care of Mr. Lawson. But his attempts in the latter were 
far from pleasing him, and he therefore made proposals 
to Mr. Lawson, to engage jointly in the work, which 
proposals were, however, declined. Baffled, hut not dis- 
couraged from his great undertaking, he declared, with 
solemn emphasis, his unalterable resolution of proceeding 
alone, if it should cost him his life. "I shall at least," 
he continued, " leave a small beacon to point out where 
I perished." 

While talking in this emphatic strain, his circumstances 
were far from encouraging, for we find him at this period, 
intimating to the trustees of his school, that it was abso- 
lutely necessary for him to retire from their service ; the 
number of his scholars amounting to no more than 
twenty-seven, and consequently yielding him but a scanty 
pittance. But two of the trustees on learning of his reso- 
lution, offered to pay of themselves two hundred dollars 
a year, rather than permit him to go; and a meeting being 
called, forty-six scholars were subscribed for, and he re- 
mained in his humble situation. This trifling incident 
shows with what respect he was held, when only a poor 
village schoolmaster. 

In the beginning of the year 1806, Wilson received in- 
timation, through the medium of the public press, that 
the government of the United States intended despatch- 
ing a party of scientific men, to explore the valley of the 
Mississippi. This appeared so favourable to Wilson, that 
he applied, through the auspices of his friend Bertram, 
to be chosen as one of the expedition. He addressed a 
letter to the president, Jefferson, with ample evidence of 
his qualifications ; but to this our naturalist received not 
the slightest notice. The neglect was too mortifying not 
to sink deep on the sensitive feelings of Wilson, and he 
was afterwards heard to declare, that " no hurry of busi- 
ness could excuse it." No light can be thrown on this 
affair ; but one of his American biographers says, that the 
letter might have been mislaid, or never reached its des- 
tination, for the president's intercourse with Wilson, in 
after times, was always kind, and even flattering ; and there 
is no reason to suppose that the naturalist was purposely 
neglected on this occasion. However, this is all very good 



<§>- 



-© 



MEMOIR OF WILSON. XXXI 

reasoning, bat the fact that he received not one word of 
reply is the same, and remains uncontradicted. 

But better days were in store for the enterprising orni- 
thologist, and his talents were not to remain long unap- 
preciated and inactive. Mr. Samuel Bradford, bookseller 
in Philadelphia, being about to publish an edition of 
Rees's Cyclopaedia, Wilson was recommended to him as a 
person well qualified to superintend the work, and his 
services were accepted. This was an occupation more 
congenial to his mind, and gave him a better opportunity 
of pursuing his studies, being free from the harrassing 
cares of the teacher's life. What recompence he received 
is not stated; but in a letter to a friend he says, it was 
generous. However, he gained by this engagement what 
he valued far more than " worldly pelf," and that was a 
prospect of being able to publish his great national work 
in a style answering to his desires. For when he ex- 
plained his views on the subject to Mr. Bradford, he 
readily consented to become the publisher, taking upon 
himself the risk of publishing it. Thus at last all things 
being happily arranged, Wilson applied himself to his 
editorial duties, and the prosecution of his studies, with 
increased vigour and unremitting assiduity, scarcely al- 
lowing himself a moment's relaxation, till his health began 
to suffer, and he was forced to indulge himself 'in a pedes- 
trian excursion through the State of Pennsylvania. This 
took place in August, 1807 ; and on his return to Phila- 
delphia he resumed his editorial duties, devoting every 
spare hour to the furthering of his great work. 

At length in the month of September, 1808, the first 
volume of the "American Ornithology" made its appear- 
ance. From the date of the arrangement with the pub- 
lisher, some hundred copies of the prospectus had 
been issued, and sent to all parts of the country, in which 
the nature and execution of the work were specified : but 
no one appeared to have the faintest idea of seeing such 
a magnificent volume; and when it was presented to the 
public, their delight was only equalled by their astonish- 
ment, that America, as yet in its infancy, could produce 
an original work, the execution of which could vie with 
the greatest works of a similar nature, in the European 
world. 

ft 3 



-® 



@= 



XXX11 MEMOIR OF WILSON. 

In the latter part of September, 1808, Wilson set out on 
a tour to the Eastern States, to exhibit his book and 
procure subscribers. On this excursion, which may be 
likened to those in his youth, when he travelled his 
native country with his volume of poems, he kept a 
diary of his proceedings, from which we learn, that he 
met with treatment scarcely more encouraging. How- 
ever, after his return home, and remaining a few days, he 
departed on a tour through the Southern States, visiting 
every town and city of importance on his route. His 
journey being performed in the dead of winter and alone, 
was attended with many inconveniences. He returned to 
New York in the month of March, 1809, with some small 
addition to his list of subscribers. Only two hundred 
copies of the first volume of the Ornithology had been 
printed, and it was now deemed advisable to throw off 
three hundred more, which was accordingly done. In the 
meantime he was busily preparing materials for his 
second volume, which, with his other labours, occupied 
the remaining portion of the year. 

The second volume was published in January, 1810; 
and scarcely had it issued from the printer's hands, be- 
fore Wilson commenced a tour to the west. Before he 
departed, he consulted with his friends on the best mode 
of descending the river Ohio ; and contrary to their dis- 
suasions, he ventured alone in a skiff, considering this 
the best mode, with all its inconveniences, as the best 
suited to his funds, and most favourable to his researches. 
Accordingly he departed to Pittsburgh, on his route to 
New Orleans. On the 24th of February he embarked in 
his little boat, and bade adieu to the smoky confines of 
that Birmingham-looking city. His provisions consisted 
of some bread and cheese, and a bottle of cordial, a pre- 
sent from a gentleman in Pittsburgh. One end of the 
boat was occupied by his trunk, great-coat, and gun ; and 
he had a small tin vessel, with which to bail his boat and 
drink the waters of the Ohio. Thus equipped, he launched 
into the stream, and far from being concerned at his 
lonely situation, he felt his heart expand with joy at the 
beauty and wildness of the scene. The weather was 
calm, and the river appeared smooth as a mirror, except 
where fragments of ice were floating down. He allowed 



<QP 



-© 



MEMOIR OF WILSON. XXX111 

his boat to float with the river, at the speed of two and a 
half miles an hour; but not being satisfied with this slow 
motion, he stripped himself for the oar, and added three 
miles and a half more to his progress. After meeting 
with a variety of interesting incidents, he arrived safely in 
Louisville, distant from the place of his departure seven 
hundred miles. Next day he sold his boat, which he had 
named the Ornithologist, for half what it cost him, to an 
old man, who wondered why he gave it such a droll In- 
dian name. " Some old chief or warrior, I suppose," 
said he. 

Leaving his baggage to be forwarded by a waggon, he 
set out on foot to Lexington, seventy-two miles further, 
where he hired a horse, and on the 4th of May departed 
on his journey, with a pistol in each pocket, and his fowl- 
ing-piece belted across his shoulders. During this long 
and hazardous journey he experienced great hardships, 
sometimes having to swim perilous creeks, and having to 
encamp for thirteen different nights in the woods alone. 
To these inconveniences was added a new attack of the 
dysentery, when far amidst execrable swamps. "My 
complaint," he writes, " increased so much, that I could 
scarcely sit on horseback, and all night my mouth and 
throat were parched with burning thirst and fever. 
On Sunday I bought some eggs, which I ate, and 
repeated the dose at mid-day and towards evening. I 
found great benefit from this simple remedy, and enquired 
all along the road for fresh eggs ; and for a week made 
them almost my sole food, until I completed my cure." 
He was also in danger of a tornado, attended with a 
drenching of rain. Trees were broken and torn up by the 
roots, and those which stood were bent almost to the 
ground; limbs of trees flew whirling .past him ; and his 
life was in such danger, that he was astonished how he 
escaped, and declared he would rather take his chance in 
a field of battle than in such a tornado again. Neverthe- 
less, he seems to have enjoyed his journey, and reached 
the town of Natchez on the 17th of May, having traversed 
a distance of six hundred and seventy-eight miles. After 
enjoying at this place the kind hospitality of William 
64 






<g)^ 



XXXI V MEMOIR OF WILSON. 

Dunbar,* at whose residence he remained a few days, he 
proceeded on his journey; and on the 6th of June 
arrived at New Orleans, distant from Natchez two hun- 
dred and fifty- two miles. But as the sickly season was 
fast approaching, he did not consider it safe to remain 
there long, and on the 25th of the month he took passage 
for New York, where he landed on July the 30th. He 
had left home on the 30th of January, and all his expenses 
to this period amounted only to four hundred and fifty 
dollars. * He arrived in Philadelphia on the 2nd of August, 
after an absence of seven months, and immediately ap- 
plied himself with increasing industry to the preparation 
of his third volume. 

Between this period and the year 1812, he made several 
journeys, partly to promote the sale of his work and pro- 
cure fresh materials. In one of his journeys, he met with 
the following ludicrous adventure : — At Haverhill, the 
good people, observing a stranger among them of very 
inquisitive habits, and who evinced great zeal in explor- 

* Wilson, before visiting this gentleman, received from him the 
following kind letter of invitation, which we consider worthy of 
transcribing : — 

" Forest, May 20, 1810. 

Sir, — It is very unfortunate that I should be so much indis- 
posed as to be confined to my bed-room ; nevertheless, I cannot 
give up the idea of having the pleasure of seeing you as soon as 
you find it convenient. The perusal of your first volume of 
Ornithology, lent me by General Wilkinson, has produced in me 
a very great desire of making your acquaintance. 

I understand, from my boy, that you purpose going a few days 
to New Orleans, where you will see some small cabinets of 
Natural History that may interest you. But, as I presume it is 
your intention to prosecute your inquiries into the interior of 
our country, this cannot be done better than from my house, as 
your head quarters, where every thing will be made convenient 
to your wishes. My house stands literally in the forest, and 
your beautiful oreoles, with other elegant birds, are our court- 
yard companions. 

The bearer attends you with a couple of horses, on the suppo- 
sition it may be convenient for you to visit us to-day, otherwise 
he shall wait upon you any 'day that you shall appoint. 
I am respectfully, &c, 

WILLIAM DUNBAR." 



© 



=@ 



MEMOIR OF WILSON. XXXV 

ing the country, sagaciously concluded that he was a spy 
from Canada, employed in taking sketches to facilitate 
the invasion of the British. He was therefore apprehend- 
ed and taken before a magistrate, with the solemnity the 
occasion merited ; but the magistrate, hearing explana- 
tions, dismissed him, with many apologies for their patri- 
otic mistake. 

Sometime before, he had been elected a member of the 
Society of Arts of the United States ; and in the spring of 
the year 1813, he was admitted to the American Philoso- 
phical Society of Philadelphia. The publishing of the 
Ornithology had went on as speedily as the nature of the 
work would allow ; and early in the latter year the seventh 
volume was published, and the letterpress and materials 
for the eighth completed in the month of August. He 
had been greatly assisted by living with his friend, Ber- 
tram, a considerable part of the years 1811 and 1812. But, 
unfortunately, his too great anxiety to conclude his work, 
impelled him into an excess of labour, that much injured 
his health: this was occasioned, in a great measure, 
from not finding persons competent enough to colour the 
plates, which he was obliged to do himself; and, being 
too proud to allow any copy of his work to appear in an 
unworthy form, he took upon himself more than he could 
possibly perform. He denied himself rest, and spent the 
whole of the day in unceasing exertion. His friends re- 
monstrated, warning him of the inevitable results; but 
the only reply made by this extraordinary man was : — ■ 
"Life is short; and nothing can be done without exertion." 
In a letter to one of his friends in Paisley, dated July 6, 
1812— just his own birthday — he says, — ."I am myself far 
from being in good health. Intense application to study 
has hurt me much. My eighth volume is now in the 
press, and will be published in November. One volume 
more will complete the whole." 

But this gifted son of genius was not destined to see 
the publishing of his eighth volume, or to enjoy the tri- 
umph of achieving his great design. The excessive la- 
bour to which he had subjected himself, greatly weakened 
his constitution, and prepared it to yield to the first act of 
extra bodily exertion ; and this, unfortunately, very soon 
occurred. While sitting one day conversing with a friend, 
55 



© 



®r- 



XXXVI MEMOIR OF WILSON. 

he caught a glimpse, from the window, of a rare bird, 
which he had long been desirous to see. With his usual 
enthusiasm, the moment he beheld it he seized his gun, 
rushed out of the house in pursuit of it, and after an ar- 
duous search, during which he swam across a river, he 
succeeded in killing it ; but he succeeded at the fatal ex- 
pense of his life. He caught a severe cold, which brought 
on an attack of his former foe, dysentery, which, after an 
illness of ten days' duration, ended his worldly career. 
" The moment," says his brother, who had a few years 
previously joined him in America, " I heard of his sick- 
ness, I went to the city, rushed into the room, and found 
him speechless. I caught his hand — he seemed to know 
me, and that was all." He died at nine o'clock on the 
morning of the 23rd of August, 1813, in the 48th year of 
his age. He was buried next day with honours due to his 
merits, — the whole of the scientific men of the city, along 
with the clergy of every denomination, attending his 
funeral. The Columbian ^Society of Fine Arts walked in 
procession before the hearse, and for thirty days wore 
crape round their arms. He had, while, in health, ex- 
pressed a wish more than once to a friend, when convers- 
ing on death, that when he died he might be buried in 
some rural spot, where the birds might sing over his grave. 
But this not being known to those who were with him in 
his last moments, and who had the mournful charge of 
his funeral, his remains were deposited in the cemetery 
of the Swedish church, in Southwark, Philadelphia. A 
plain marble monument, bearing the following inscription, 
marks the spot where his dust reposes : — 

THIS 

MONUMENT 

Covers the Remains of 
ALEXANDER WILSON, 

Author of the 

American Ornithology. 

He was born in Renfrewshire, Scotland, 

On the 6th July, 1766; 

Emigrated to the United States 

In the year 1794 ; 

And died in Philadelphia, 

Of the Dysentery, 

On the 23rd of August, 1813, 

Aged 47. 



L 



=@ 



MEMOIR OF WILSON. XXXV11 

Only a few sheets of the eighth volume having been 
printed before the author's death, the remainder was 
edited by his friend, Mr. George Ord, and published in 
January, 1814. The ninth and last volume of the work 
appeared in May, 1814 ; the plates having been printed 
under Wilson's own superintendance, and the letterpress 
supplied by Mr. Ord. 

In personal appearance, Wilson is described as having 
been prepossessing, tall — five feet eleven inches — hand- 
some, and rather slender than robust. His countenance 
was expressive and thoughtful, and a little tinged with 
melancholy. His eye penetrating, and, when in conver- 
sation, powerful and intelligent. His eyebrows were finely 
arched, and, to phrenologists, displayed large perspective 
faculties. His hair was of a dark brown colour, and hung 
down over his shoulders.* His conversation was remark- 
able for vividness and originality ; and his whole deport- 
ment indicated a man of uncommon intellectual powers, 
who was quite unconscious of possessing them. He was 
also remarkable for neatness in appearance, and for an ah* 
superior to his condition in life, and as possessing the 
nicest sense of honour ; and in all his dealings, he was 
not only scrupulously just, but highly generous. His 
veneration for truth was exemplary, as also was his piety ; 

* It will be seen that the above description of his personal ap- 
pearance is borne out by the engraved portrait prefixed to this 
edition of his poems, the original of which was painted by James 
Craw, when the poet was in his twentieth year. The personal 
appearance of Wilson experienced in after life a considerable 
change, as might be expected from the long and fatiguing jour- 
neys he undertook in quest of ornithological subjects ; and his 
appearance in his latter days is thus described by his American 
biographer :— "In person he was of middle stature, of a thin 
habit of body; his cheek-bones projected, and his eyes, though 
hollow, displayed considerable vivacity and intelligence; his 
complexion was sallow ; his mien thoughtful ; his features 
were coarse, and there was a dash of vulgarity in his physiog- 
nomy, which struck the observer at the first view, but which 
failed to impress on an acquaintance. His walk was quick when 
travelling ; so much so, that it was difficult for a companion to 
keep pace with him ; but when in the forest, in pursuit of birds, 
he was deliberate and attentive— he was, as it were, all eyes and 
all ears." 



XXXViii MEMOIR OF WILSON. 

and his sympathies were ever with the poor and the un- 
fortunate. He was social in his disposition, but very tem- 
perate in his eating and drinking, his love of retirement 
preserving him from the baneful influence of the convi- 
vial circle, so fatal to many of our most gifted sons of 
song. 

With regard to the merits of his poems, it is quite un- 
necessary to speak, their superior description being of 
themselves evident to every reader; but this much, how- 
ever, may be said, that for original ideas, a masculine su- 
periority of language, high graphic and descriptive char- 
acter — particularly his Scottish poems — they will stand a 
fair comparison with the productions of any of our Scottish 
poets, not even Burns excepted. However, he is far short 
of that poet in fine poetic imagination, and the sweet ten- 
derness for which Burns stands so unrivalled; but to 
whom not a few of Wilson's Scottish pieces would add 
considerable honour. Of the literary merits of his great 
work, the American Ornithology, it is much more unne- 
cessary to mention. Its fame for being the first work on 
the division of natural history of which it treats, and of 
never being perhaps surpassed, has long since been esta- 
blished; and it may be safely maintained, that in no age 
or nation has arisen a man so eminently qualified for a 
naturalist than its talented author. And though he did 
not reap any pecuniary benefit from his work, save the 
money which he received for colouring his own plates, 
and did not live to enjoy, he certainly anticipated, what 
has come to pass — that his work would always be regard- 
ed as a subject of pride to his adopted country, as it is 
to the land of his birth; and would secure immortal 
honour on him whose name it bears. 



©-- 











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=® 



WILSON'S POEMS. 



S C E N E, — A BAE.\. 

My fortune leads to traverse realms alone, 
And find no spot of all the world my own. 

Goldsmith. 

Hail ! ye drear shadows, willing I approach 
Once more to join you, from my humble couch ; 
Welcome, ye friendly shades, ye kindred glooms ! 
More do I love you than the wealthy's rooms — 
The dark, clamp walls — the roof scarce cover'd o'er, 
The wind wild whistling through the cold barn-door . 
Those, like myself, are hung in ragged state, 
And this seems shrilly to deplore my fate. 

Far from a home, Fate has my lot design'd, 
A lot inglorious, and a lot unkind ; 
No friend at hand to bless my listening ear, 
No kind companion to dispel my care, 
No coin to revel round the flowing bowl, 
And in dark shades to wrap the weltering soul : 
If that is bliss, 'twas what I never miss'd, 
And were it all, I'd rather be unbless'd. 

But, come ! thou cheerer of my frowning hours, 
Native of heaven, adorn'd with blooming flowers ; 
Thou, who oft deigns the shepherd's breast to warm, 
As on the steep he feeds his fleecy swarm ; 
Sublimes his soul, through Nature vast to soar, 
Her works to view, to wonder and adore. 



-® 



2 wilson's poems. 

Though Fortune frown, and writhing Envy hiss, 
Be thou, oh Poetry ! my pride, my bliss ; 
My source of health — Misfortune's adverse spear, 
My joy hereafter, and my pleasure here. 

While yet sad Night sits empress of the sky, 
And o'er the world dark shades confusedly lie, 
Forth let me stray along the dew- wet plains, 
While all air echoes with the lark's loud strains. 
With lonely step I'll seek the gloomy shade 
Of yon wide oak, half bending o'er the glade ; 
Here let me rest, unseen by human eye, 
And sing the beauties of the dawning sky. 

How still is all around ! far on yon height 
The new- waked hind has struck a glimmering light ; 
Hush'd is the breeze, while high the clouds among 
The early lark pours out her thrilling song, 
Springs from the grassy lea or rustling corn, 
Towers thro' dull night and wakes the coming morn. 
And see ! sweet Morning comes, far in the east, 
Pale lustre shedding o'er the mountain's breast \ 
Slow is her progress, unobserved her pace, 
She comes increasing, and she comes with grace; 
The dewy landscape opens on the eye, 
Far to the west the gloomy vapours fly ; 
Instant awake ! the feather'd tribes arise, 
Sport through the grove or warble in the skies, 
Blithe and exulting with refreshen'd glee, 
From every bush and every dropping tree. 

In sullen silence to her ancient home, 
Where close shut up she doses all day long, 
The hermit owl slow takes her gloomy way, 
And frets and grudges at th' approach of day. 
The bat, the busiest of the midnight train 
That wing the air or sulky tread the plain, 
Sees Morning open on each field and bower, 
And ends her mazes in yon ruin'd tower. 



®= 



3® 



wilson's poems. 3 

Now is the time, while joy and song prevail, 
To spurn dull sleep and brush the flowery dale ; 
To climb the height of some hill's airy brow, 
Where woods shoot branching from the cliffs below; 
Where some clear brook winds in the vale profound, 
And rich the landscape spreads immense around ; 
While under-foot gay crimson'd daisies peep, 
And shepherds' clubs a hang nodding o'er the steep ; 
There, on the downy turf, at ease reclined, 
Invite the Muse to aid your teeming mind, 
Then shall grim Care, with all his furies fly, 
As sulky Night speeds from the dawning sky, 
And your calm breast enjoy a rapt'ring glow, 
Which wealth or indolence can ne'er bestow. 

Let boisterous drunkards at th' approach of day, 
In staggering herds forth from the tavern stray, 
Stand belching oaths and nauseous streams of wine, 
Less men resembling, than the grovelling swine. 
The cit, with pride and sordid meanness bred, 
His be the privilege to snore in bed, 
No knowledge gaining from the changing skies, 
But just his bed- time and his time to rise. 

Mine be the bliss to hail the purpling dawn, 
To mark the dew-drops glittering o'er the lawn : 
Thrice happy period, when amid the throng 
Of warbling birds, I join the grateful song ; 
Or wandering thoughtful near the bubbling stream, 
Or wrapt in fancy by the early beam ; 
Each gives a joy, an inward reigning bliss, 
Pen can't describe, nor labouring tongue express. 

O thou dread Power ! thou Architect divine ! 
Who bids these seasons roll — those myriads shine ; 
Whose smile decks Nature in her loveliest robe, 
Whose frown shakes terror o'er th' astonish'd globe ; 

a A wild flower. 



=© 



® =@ 

4 wilson's poems. 

To thee I kneel ; still deign to be a friend, 
Accept my praise, and pardon where I've sinn'd ; 
Inspire my thoughts, make them unsullied flow, 
To see thy goodness in thy works below ; 
That whether Morning gilds the sky serene, 
Or golden Day beams o'er the blooming plain, 
Or dewy Evening cheers, while Philo. sings, 
Or ancient Night out-spreads her raven wings ; 
Whether soft breezes curl along the flood, 
Or maddening tempests bend the roaring wood, 
Rejoiced, adoring, I may view the change, 
And while on Fancy's airy plumes I range, 
Collect calm Eeason, awe-struck eye their ways, 
And join the chorus, since they sound thy praise. 



Of joys departed, never to return, 
How painful the remembrance ! 

Blair. 

'Twas where smooth Cartha a rolls in winding pride, 
"Where willows fringe young Damon's garden side, 
And o'er the rocks the boiling current roars, 
Murm'ring to leave these peaceful, flowery shores ; 
There, sad and pensive, near an aged thorn, 
Sat lone Alexis, friendless and forlorn. 

Pale was his visage, lost to joy his ear, 
Involved in grief, he shed the ceaseless tear : 
Poor hapless swain, alas ! he mourn'd alone, 
His dearest friend, his kind companion gone. 
Each listening bush forgot in air to play ; 
Kound gazed the flock, mute hung the peopled spray; 
Sad Silence reign'd, while thus the youth distrest, 
Pour'd forth the sorrows of his burden'd breast : 

a The river which passes through Paisley. 



©= 



Wilson's poems. 5 

O'er all the plain the mournful strains pervade, 

O'er all the plain a solemn sadness spread, 

Nor wak'd an echo but to murmur " dead !" 

Thus sung the hapless swain — " Short is the span 

Of fleeting time, allow'd to feeble man ! 

No sooner born, he fills the air with cries ; 

No sooner known, than pale he droops and dies. 

To-day he laughs the dancing hours away, 

To-morrow lies extended lifeless clay ; 

While o'er the silent corpse each weeping swain 

In anguish sigh, but sigh or weep in vain. 

Such was thy fate, Horatio ! from this shore 

Too sudden torn, ne'er to revisit more. 

The rigid debt, alas ! thou now hast paid ; 

Thee on the couch relentless Fever laid ; 

Thy heaving breast with dread disorder rung, 

And 'plaints still trembling from thy feeble tongue ; 

And scarce a soul thy frequent wants to ease, 

Or soothe each moan, or whisper to thee peace — 

"While I, far distant, on a foreign plain, 

Exulting roved, unconscious of thy pain. 

Oh ! had I known the pangs that tore thy breast, 

Had some kind power but whisper'd, 'he's distrest,' 

Soon had I measur'd back my lonely way, 

An,d sought the bed where poor Horatio lay, 

Kiss'd from thy face the cold, damp, deadly dew, 

And groan'd my last distracted long adieu. 

" That dismal hour ne'er from my thought shall go, 
When black appear'd the messenger of woe ; 
O'er all my soul a gloomy horror came, 
And instant trembling shook my feeble frame. 
Thy dying strains I read, still yet I hear 
The solemn counsel sounding in my ear ; a 
Words that shall tremble on my latest breath, 
And only leave me when I sink in death. 

a Alluding to a letter which he wrote to the Author a few days 
bofore he died. 

b2 

— ~ == =@ 



6 Wilson's poems. 

Frantic with grief, twice fifty miles I sped 
O'er severing seas and gain'd his silent bed ; 
Each weeping friend confirm'd my gloomy fear, 
That earth had closed on all I held most dear ! 
Yes, mute he lies beneath yon rising sod, 
While his lone cot, of Peace the late abode, 
Now grim and drear, to tottering rain falls, 
Loud blasts wild howling through the naked walls, 
His flowers torn up, his garden bare and waste, 
And I lone left, a solitary guest. 

' ' Sad change indeed ! ye once lov'd scenes where now 
The growing bliss I felt at each fond view ? 
Where all that sweetness that perfum'd each flower, 
That bless'd our walks and wing'd the passing hour? 
For ever fled ! fled with that pride of swains, 
Whose presence graced these now forsaken plains ! 
When he appear'd, each warbler raised his note, 
Each flower blow'd fresher 'midst the peaceful spot ; 
Ev'n while sweet Cartha pass'd the smiling scene, 
She smoother flow'd, and left the place with pain. 
Thrice happy times ! when hid from Phoebus' beam, 
From that green shade we angled in her stream, 
Or wanton, stript, and from the hanging shore, 
Exulting, plunged her pearly depths t' explore, 
Tore from their rocky homes the pregnant dames, 
And to the sun display'd the glob'lous gems. 

" But now no more amid the peaceful night, 
Beneath pale Luna's azure throned light, 
We'll leave the noisy town and slowly stray 
Where shadowy trees branch on the moon-light way ; 
There wake the flute, harmonious, soft, and shrill, 
While Echo warbles from the distant hill. 
Gone are those times, for which, alas ! I mourn ; 
Gone are those times, nor shall they e'er return ; 
Gone is my friend, and ev'n forgot his name, 
And strangers rude his little mansion claim. 



=@ 



WILSON S POEMS. 7 

New schemes shall tear those blooming shrubs away, 
And that green sod turn down to rugged clay. 
Where rich carnations burst the ponderous pod, 
Where pinks and daisies fringed the peebly road, 
Where glowing roses hung the bended spray, 
Where crimson'd tulips rose, neat ranged and gay ; 
Where all these bloom'd beneath their guardian's eye, 
Hogs shall inhabit, and foul dunghills lie. 
Then, oh ! adieu, ye now unfriendly shores, 
Another swain now claims your flowery stores ; 
A surly swain, puff'd up with pride immense, 
And see! he comes, stern to command me hence. 
Thou hoary thorn, adieu ! ere 'tis too late, 
Yon lifted axe seems to announce thy fate." 

Thus spoke the youth ; then rising, ceased his strain, 
And wrapt in anguish, wander'd o'er the plain. 



WRITTEN ON THE LAST NIGHT OF THE YEAR. 

Stain'd with the guilt of man's continued crimes, 
The parting year prepares to wing its way, 

To join the concourse of departed times, 
And wait the summons of the final day. 

Its sad egress no crimson'd clouds bewail, 
Nor tuneful bird its parting moment cheers ; 

But silent, wrapt in Winter's gloomiest veil, 
It leaves us trembling at the load it bears. 

Far distant, in an inn's third flat uprear'd, 
The sheet beneath a glimm'ring taper spread, 

While o'er the shadowy walls no sound is heard, 
Save Time's slow, constant, momentary tread. 

Here, lone I sit — and will you, sir, excuse 
My midnight strain, while, feebly as she can, 



-A 



© — ©I 

8 wilson's poems. 

Inspiring Silence bids the serious muse 
Survey the transient bliss pursued by Man? 

Deluded Man ! for him Spring paints the fields, 
For him warm Summer rears the rip'ning grain ; 

He grasps the bounty that rich Autumn yields, 
And counts those trifles as essential gain. 

Eor him, indeed, those lesser blessings flow, 
Yet why so fleeting, why so short their stay ? — 

To teach poor mortals what they first should know, 
That all is transient as the passing day. 

Short is the period since green smiled the wood, 
And flow'rs ambrosial bathed my morning path ; 

Sweet was the murm'ring of the glitt'ring flood, 
Glad roam'd the flocks along th' empurpled heath. 

With conscious joy I hail'd the rosy scene, 

And join'd in concert with the woodland throng ; 

Stretch'd by the hazel bank, or sunny plain, 
Where answ'ring echo warbl'd out the song. 

Delightful times ! but, ah ! how short their stay ! 

Stript was the foliage from each flow'r and tree ; 
Grim growling Winter veil'd the joyless day, 

And roar'd imperious o'er the hail-beat lea. 

Where now the fragrance of the howling wood ? 

Or what the pleasures we from morn can taste ? 
The snow-clad banks, the big brown roaring flood, 

The bleak wind whistling o'er the drifted waste. 

'Tis thus, dear sir, in Life's delusive dream, 
We fondly sport, till Youth's wild act is o'er ; 

Till Age — till Death — steals on in sullen stream, 
And worldly bubbles charm the soul no more. 



=©l 



=© 



wilson's poems. 9 

But, hark ! the sullen midnight tempest roars ; 

Loud o'er my sireless dome it wildly howls ; 
Th' adjoining ocean, through her rocky shores, 

Majestic groans, and swells the mingled growls. 

The shiv'ring muse has fled my frozen frame, 
And shouts of riot strike my list'ning ear ; 

In sinking — mounting — sad inconstant flame, 
My candle's ending with the ending year. 

Adieu, my friend ! may success, health and peace 
Crown your each year, and ev'ry labour too ; 

And sure, if virtuous worth claims human praise, 
Fate still in keeping holds a wreath for you. 

Fraught with fresh blessings be this coming year ; 

And should some sav'ring period of its reign 
Admit my steps, rejoiced I'll homeward steer, 

And hail your mansion, and my friend again. 



FOR THE BIRTH-DAY OF OUR IAIMORTA.L SCOTTISH POET, 
SET TO MUSIC BY A BACCHANALIAN CLUB. 

Ye sons of bright Phoebus, ye bards of the plough, 
Shout aloud ! and let gladness sublime every brow ; 
See the young rosy morning rejoicing returns, 
That blest our fair isle with the rare Robin Burns ! 

Let the pure aquavitce now inspire ev'ry soul, 
Since whiskey can waft us at once to the pole ; 
Let us laugh down the priest and the devil by turns, 
And roar out the praise of the rare Robin Burns. 

Hail blest Ordination ! all hail Holy Fair ! 
Ye glorious effusions ! ye thrice sacred pair ! 
Your pages the rake on his death-bed o'erturns, 
And mixes a d — n, with " O rare Robin Burns !" 






@ - @ 

10 Wilson's poems. 

By Babel no more let us languish forlorn, 
Come twitch up the strings to great John Barleycorn ; 
Be our friendship eternal, and, laid in our urns, 
If we roar let us roar with the rare Robin Burns. 

Ye nymphs of old Coila who exult in his art, 

And have felt the warm raptures glide home to your 

heart, 
Leave your raw lifeless Clodpoles, your cows and 

your churns, 
And encore the great sportsman, " rare Robin 

Burns !" 

Clear the road ye dull churchmen ! make way for 

our bard, 
To* whose tow'ring genius no task is too hard; 
Your glories, your precepts, your nonsense he spurns, 
And Europe loud echoes " O rare Robin Burns !" 

Rejoice ye Excisemen ! resound the huzza ! 
Nor tremble by piecemeal in brimstone to gnaw, 
Though horrors surround, he's a coward that mourns, 
All hell will befriend you for rare Robin Burns. 

Hark, hark ! what an uproar ! every ghost is afoot, 
How they brandish their fire-brands 'mid darkness 

and soot ! 
See legion on legion tumultuous adjourns, 
To swell the loud strain of " O rare Robin Burns !" 

Ye " heav'n-taught" rhymers, ye bards of the plough, 
Shout aloud ! and let gladness sublime every brow ; 
While the young rosy morning rejoicing returns 
That blest our fair isle with the rare Robin Burns. 



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wilson's poems. 11 

®|je jljjqjj&erttegjj' atom, 

FOUNDED ON A FACT. 

Where Lorn's wild hills, in lonely grandeur rise 
From th' Atlantic shore, till lost amid the skies, 
Immensely throwing, while young morning smiles, 
Their dark'ning shadows o'er the distant isles ; 
Here, near the border of a ragged wood, 
The young Maria's rural cottage stood. 

Soon as the night to western skies was borne, 
And early cock proclaim'd the op'ning morn, 
Forth stray'd the blooming maid, with all her train 
Of bleaters, nibbling o'er th' empurpled plain. 
High on the summit's brow, or braky glen, 
Or heathy dale, or near the grassy fen, 
Or on the hill, they fed, where blue bells hung 
Their nodding heads, high throned the sweet lark 

sung, 
While rocks around, with lows and bleatings rung. 

Here stray'd the shepherdess, while blazing day 
Awoke the warbling choir and flow 'rets gay. 
Deep in the shade she shunn'd the sultry air, 
Or kept from startling sweep her milky care, 
Till in the sea bright Phoebus' chariot rolled, 
Then, singing, wore them homewards to the fold. 

Near her lone cottage rose the rugged shore, 
Where foaming billows raved with ceaseless roar ; 
High, grim, and dreadful, hung the gloomy steep, 
Andtower'd black threat'ning o'er the low-sunk deep. 
And now 'twas night — the maid in bed reclined, 
The following prospect open'd on her mind. 

She dream'd, that careless in the noontide ray, 
Stretch'd on a flow'ry bank, she sleeping lay, 
When some kind voice, soft whisper'd in her ear, 
" Maria! rise, thy flock hath left thee here"— 



=© 



12 wilson's poems. 

Sudden she started, found herself alone, 
Around all silent, and her bleaters gone. 
She snatch'd her crook, flew o'er the lonely dale, 
Plung'd through the brook, and gazed adown the vale ; 
But nought appeared. Again she sought the heath, 
Each creek, each hollow view'd with panting breath; 
Till, toil'd and faint, the airy steep she gains, 
And views enraptured, views them on the plains — 
Cows, sheep, and goats, at once burst on her eye, 
Some crop the herbs, while others peaceful lie, 
Her little heart expands in an exulting cry. 
Yet still she thought, between her and the flock, 
Arose a shelvy, black, impervious rock, 
Which oft she strove to pass, but strove in vain,, 
Some pow'r unseen still pull'd her back again. 
With toil fatigued she view'd them as they fed, 
And on the rock reclined her heavy head. 

Thus dream'd the maid, and waking midst the night, 
Beheld, good gods ! beheld a horrid sight. 
High on a rock's dread verge, hung o'er the main, 
Whose far-sunk surge wheel'd round her giddy brain, 
Amazed she found herself, half-clad, alone ; 
Her hand laid leaning on a jutting stone, 
Dark was the night, save where the shrouded moon, 
'Midst dusky clouds, shone on the waste aroun', 
And show'd the horrid steep, a dreadful sight, 
Cliff hung o'er cliff, in grim stupendous height. 
Back from the threat'ning scene she headlong fled, 
Lest the whole mass might yield beneath her tread : 
Then raised the maid to heav'n her streaming eyes, 
And pour'd her grateful soul in fervent sighs, 
To that kind Pow'r, who feeble mortals keeps, 
Whose eye, all- seeing, slumbers not nor sleeps ; 
To whom each^being^owes all that he hath, 
Each pulse's throb, and each returning breath, 
Implor'd his presence still to guard her path, 
Then, rising, sought her cot along the lonely heath. 



— ' - = — = © 

Wilson's poems. 13 

®JiDiiig8iW in a @§w:$=lEw$. 

Earth's highest station ends in, here he lies ; 
And, dust to dust, concludes her noblest song. 

Young. 

Again, O Sadness ! soft'ning pow'r, again 

I woo thee, thoughtful, from this letter'd stone ; 

And, hail, thou comes ! to view the dreary scene 
Where ghastly Death has fixed his awful throne. 

How lone, how solemn seems each view around ? 

I see, at distance, oh ! distracting sight ! 
I see the tomh — the humbly grassy mound, 

Where he now lies, once all my soul's delight ! 

A youth more gen'rous, more humanely kind, 
A friend more loving, or a heart more brave, 

Ne'er breathed a being from th' eternal mind, 
Nor fell a victim to the cruel grave. 

But, cease ye tears, nor thus incessant flow, 

And still these tumults, oh ! thou bleeding heart ; 

Methinks his shade soft whispers, " Wait the blow, 
And soon we'll meet, ne'er, ne'er again to part." 

Here stands the artist's tomb, in splendour rear'd, 
And all the pomp surviving art can give ; 

But will hoar Time the pillar'd dome regard, 
And shall its pride to endless ages live ? 

No — though the marble seems to start to life, 
Though firm as rock the structure rears its head, 

Time's cank'ring jaws will end the daring strife, 
And lay it level with tlr unhonour'd dead. 

Ye lonely heaps, ye bones, ye grim sculls, say, 
Must I be stretch'd cold, lifeless in the dust ; 

Must this poor head be wrapt in putrid clay, 

And glare like you ? Ye murmur back " it 

must." 

b3 

© ■ © 



©= 



14 wilson's poems. 

Then what avail thy fleeting joys, Time ! 

Thy bliss uncertain, when such truths are sure ; 
May these scenes teach me to contemn this clime, 

And seek that bliss, those joys that shall endure. 

These are thy spoils, thou grisly monarch, Death ! 

Grim pleased thou stalks above the low-laid train ; 
Each sculptured stone, each poor low grassy wreath, 

Thou eyes as trophies of thy dreadful fame. 

But know, proud lord, thy reign shall have an end, 
Though nought on earth can now resist its force ; 

Yet, shalt thou fall beneath a mightier hand, 
And yield thy weapons, and thy meagre horse. 

In that dread day, when from the bellowing clouds, 
The trump's loud sound shall shake th' affrighted 
earth, 
When these, and millions, struggling from their 
shrouds, 
Shall wake to mis'ry or to endless mirth : 

When Time shall cease in scanty stream to flow, 
And earth and stars in endless ruin sink, 

Then heaven's high King with one triumphant blow, 
Shall dash thee headlong from existence's brink. 

But, see ! sad ev'ning spreads her sable veil, 
The chilly breeze bleak ruffles o'er the lawn ; 

For once, adieu ; ye silent heaps, farewell, 
Perhaps I join you ere to-morrow's dawn. 

Oft let me stray where these lone captives lie, 
And, sad and thoughtful, o'er the deep grave bend; 

This is the place, truth tells us with a sigh, 
Where all our sorrows and our sighings end. 



®= 



=© 



wilson's poez.is. 15 

37*1**$ to %t JKramg ®i m HEagagfatg ¥ewl3&, 

UNCOMMONLY ATTACKED TO LEARNING. 

Here, stranger ! pause, and sadly o'er this stone, 
A moment ponder on the deeds of Fate : 

Snatch'd hence in blooming youth, here moulders one, 
Whose life seem'd worthy of a longer date. 

Mild was his temper, and his soul serene ; 

Truth warm'd his breast and dwelt upon his tongue : 
Oft would he wander from the noisy scene, 

To list, while Virgil or bold Homer sung. 

With such a son, what was his parents' joy ? 

No thought can reach it, nor no tongue can tell ; 
Nor paint their anguish when the lovely boy, 

By death assaulted, pale and lifeless fell. 

Yet they submit to Heaven's wise-acting power ; 

And think, oh reader ! as thou treads this sod, 
He once like thee enjoy 'd life's glittering hour; 

Thou soon like him must pass death's gloomy road. 



$imi lEpfeitk to 0Lu ^wmn ietyg« 

As when, by play retarded, past his hour, 

The scampering school-boy ventures to the door, 

With throbbing breast lists to the busy noise, 

And starts to hear the master's awful voice ; 

Oft sighs and looks — now offers to burst in, 

Now backwards shrinks and dreads a smarting skin ; 

Till desperate grown, by fear detain'd more late, 

He lifts the latch and boldly meets his fate. 

So I, dear sir, have oft snatch'd up the quill 
To hail your ear, yet have been silent still. 

B 4 



=@ 



©-= — — — 

16 wilson's poems. 

Awed by superior worth my pen forgot 
Its wonted power, and trembled out a blot ; 
The Muse sat mute and hung her languid head, 
And Fancy crawl'd with diffidence and dread; 
Till forced at last, I spurn the phantom Fear, 
And dare to face your dread tribunal here. 

No flowery sweets I bring though Summer reigns, 
And flocks delighted rove through painted plains ; 
Though glittering brooks flow smooth,meandering by, 
And larks soar warbling through the azure sky ; 
And meads and groves rejoice — to me unblest ; 
For oh ! bleak Winter reigns within my breast : 
Here whirls a storm, though hid from human sight, 
Fiercer than winds that howl through gloomy night. 

As griefs reveal'd are robbed of half their sting, 
And seeming doubts when told oft take to wing, 
Permit me here some miseries to unnest, 
That long have harbour'd in my labouring breast. 

Oft pale-eyed Poverty, in sullen state, 
Stalks round and threatens to deform my fate ; 
Points to the future times, and grinning, says, 
" Old Age and I shall curse thy evening days ; 
His shaking hand shall change thy locks to gray, 
Thy head to baldness, and thy strength to clay ; 
Make thy sad hor'zon with dark tempests roll, 
And lead me forward to complete the whole : 
To count thy groans — to hear thee hopeless mourn, 
And wave these trophies o'er thy closing urn." 

Then mad Ambition revels through my brain, 
And restless bids me spurn life's grovelling plain ; 
Awake the Muse and soft enrapturing lyre, 

To G 's praise, our villa's friendly sire ; 

In glowing colours paint his rural seat, 
Where songsters warble and where lambkins bleat ; 
Where groves and plains in sweet disorder lie, 
Hills rough with woods that towering cleave the sky ; 



wilson's poems. 17 

And darksome woody vales, where liid|frorQ sight, 
Lone Calder brawls o'er many a rocky height ; 
Tell in soft strains how rich our plains appear, 
What plenty crowns them each revolving year ; 
Till smiles approving bless my task, and Fame 
Enrol the patriot and the poet's name. 

But when (sad theme !) I view my feeble rhyme, 
And weigh my worth for such a flight sublime, 
With tearful eye survey the fate of those, 
Whose powerful learning shielded not from foes ; 
Damp'd at the thought, Fear clogs the Muse's wing, 
And grief and hope by turns inspire or sting. 

While such sad thoughts, such grim reflections roll, 
In dark succession o'er my gloomy soul, 
One ray from you to chase the cheerless gloom, 
And bid fair Fancy's fields their sweets resume, 
Would lift my heart light as the sweepy wind, 
And deeper bind me your indebted friend. 

When darkness reigns, or evening silence deep, 
Some moments rescue from the jaws of sleep, 
Bid your sweet Muse unfold her downy wings, 
And teach a youth to touch the trembling strings ; 
Dispel his doubts, arouse his hovering flame, 
And point the road that leads to bliss and fame. 



Closed in a garret spread wi' beuks, 

Whare spider wabs in dozens, 
Hing mirk athort the winnock neuks, 

Maist dark'ning up the lozens ; 
Through whilk the sin, wi' beams sae braw 

Ne'er shows his face discreetly, 
Save whan out owre the Misty-Law, 

He's flitherin' downward sweetly, 

To close the day. 

B 5 






©==^^===^ =-~- — — — 

18 wilson's poems. 

Here sits the bardie, sir, his lane, 

Right glad to rest retired ; 
His griefs and girnin' cares a' gane, 

And a' his fancy fired ; 
The Muses round him danein' thrang, 

Their skill fu' proud to show it ; 
In lively measure, thun'erin' lang, 

To sing and please the poet 

O' B , this day. 

Oh ! how my heart exulting loups, 

To meet a chiel like you ; 
Life's bitter horn aside it coups, 

And fills 't wi' cheering blue : 
While chaunrin' critics girn and growl, 

And curse whate'er they light on, 
The honest, friendly, generous soul, 

Can check, inspire, and brighten, 

Wi' ease each day. 

Yet some there are whase flinty hearts, 

And hollow heads (poor wretches !) 
Despise the poet's glorious parts, 

And ca' them daudron b — ch-s. 
Tell them a plan o' cent, per cent., 

They'll glut yer words like hinee ; 
But mention poetry, they'll gaunt 

And gloom, as gin't war sinee, 

Or salts, that day. 
Anither set comes in my view, 

A' trampin' Heaven's way in ; 
See ! how they shake their heads, and groo 

At ought but grace and prayin' : 
These godly fouks will tak' the qualms, 

To hear a rhyme-repeater, 
And solemnly declare the Psalms 

To be the far best metre 

On earth, this day. 

'© - •= =============, 



— = - — -@ 

Wilson's poems. 19 

Poor brainless wights ! they little ken 

Its charms, its soaring fire ; 
In every age the best of men, 

Have raptured, tuned the lyre : 
'Tis this that breathes Job's mournful plaints, 

Or aids him to adore ; 
And this the seraph's mouth and saints, 

Will fill when time's no more, 

But endless day. 

Whan bonny Spring adorns the year, 

And ilka herb is springing, 
And birds on blossom'd branches clear, 

Wi' lightsome hearts are singing ; 
How sweet to rove at early morn, 

Whare dewy flowers are ranket, 
While they wha sic enjoyments scorn, 

Lie snorin' in a blanket, 

Till height o' day. 

I ne'er was rich, nor ever will, 

But ony time ye come 
To our bit town, we'se hae a gill, 

An' owr't we'se no sit dumb. 
A gill, man, spreads the Muse's wing, 

Sets ilka quill in order ; 
And gars her mount, and soar, and sing. 

Till she maist gains the border 

O' brightest day. 



HEIfgg m tfyt StatS of KK. KKat&ftji m 

A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR. 

Sunk was the sun 'midst clouds of gold, 

Lone Night refgn'd from her starry dome, 
When slow I left the bleating fold, 
And weary sought my little home, 
c 
~^- @ 



©= 



20 wilson's poems. 

There, sad and cheerless near the fire, 

I gloomy sat, to grief resign'd ; 
And while down stole the silent tear, 

These thoughts slow wander'd o'er my mind. 

Alas ! — my distant friend, I fear — 
"Why these woe-bodings at my heart ? 

What sound still tinkles in my ear, 
Which mirth nor pleasure can divert ? 

I spoke, I sigh'd, and raised my head — 
I sigh'd, I groan'd, yet knew not why, 

When, strange ! a voice soft breathed out "dead!' ! 
I heard, and changed to palest clay. 

Prostrate I fell, lull'd in a faint, 

Till by degrees life on me broke ; 
I waked to misery — rose pale, spent, 

And thus in deep distraction spoke. 

" And art thou gone, oh ! hapless youth ; 

And shall these eyes ne'er view thee more ? 
Thou, in whose glowing breast dwelt truth, 

Art thou for ever from me tore ? 

Ye dreary walls, list to my doom, 

Bear witness to my heart- felt wail, 
And wrap you with a darker gloom, 

While I relate the mournful tale. 

For oh ! insatiate cruel Death, 

Hath torn from me my dearest friend ; 

Then farewell, world, and hated breath, 
I shall not long delay behind. 

Ah, see ! the breathless corse there lies, 
White stretch'd along — distracting sight ! 

How changed that face! how sunk those eyes! 
For ever sunk in endless night ! 



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wilson's poems, 21 

Pale is the face that wont to smile, 

Adorn'd with charms of native red ; 
Cold, cold that breast, where envious Guile 

Ne'er found a shelter for her head. 

Oh ! barbarous Death, relentless power ! 

How hast thou made my bosom bleed ? 
In one tremendous, awful hour, 

Thou'st made me wretched — poor indeed. 

Ye once delightful scenes, adieu ! 

Where first I drew my infant breath, 
Since the sole friend this breast ere knew, 

Closed are his eyes, and sunk in death. 

Farewell, ye banks with willows tipt, 

Where oft beneath the summer beam, 
'Midst flowery grass we've fondly stript, 

And plunged beneath the opening stream. 

No more, while Winter rules the sky, 

And firms pure Cartha's icy face, 
Shall he on skates, swift bounding fly, 

While I pursue the mazy chase. 

No more, alas ! we'll nightly walk 

Beneath the silent, silver moon ; 
Or pass the rapturing^hours in talk, 

In yonder bower, retired from noon. 

How will that beauteous maid bewail, 
Whose charms first caught his youthful heart ? 

Who often heard liis tender tale, 

And blushing, eased his wounding smart. 

No more with thee he'll spend the night, 
Where Cynthia gleams athwart the grove ; 

Nor seize thy hand in dear delight, 
And tell enchanting tales of love. 



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22 



WILSON S POEMS, 



Alas ! he's bid a long adieu ; 

In vain we weep, in vain repine ; 
Ne'er shalt thou meet a swain so true, 

Ne'er shall I find a friend so kind. 

How long we've been companions dear, 

How loved — nor tongue nor words can tell ; 

But hark ! — alas ! methinks I hear 
Some solemn, dreary warning knell. 

Yes — I will come — thou beckoning ghost ; 

I hear thy kind, thy awful call : 
One green-grass sod shall wrap our dust, 

And some sweet Muse weep o'er our fall. 



A FABLE. 



Content's the choicest bliss we can 
E'er reach to in this mortal span : 
'Tis not in grandeur, power or state, 
The lordly dome or cottage neat, 
Still to be found — but chief she dwells 
In that calm breast that Care repels ; 
With dauntless heart braves frowning Fate, 
Nor e'er concludes that Hope's too late ; 
Aspires no higher than his sphere, 
Nor harbours discontentment there. 
Pale Discontent ! the baneful sting, 
From whence unnumber'd miseries spring ; 
Ambition gazing to the skies, 
And ever planning schemes to rise, 
Till to Power's dizzy peak up-whirl'd, 
Pate shakes the base and clown he's hurl'd. 
Heart-wringing cares that still torment, 
All flow from murmuring Discontent. 



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ttilson's poems. 23 

Some forward look at coming ills, 
And die long ere they thwart their wills ; 
Others in real misery groan, 
And think Heaven frowns on them alone ; 
While many a one, mean, pining elves, 
Raise airy horrors to themselves. 

Happy the man whose views ne'er stretch 
To things beyond his honest reach ; 
Who, whether doom'd to hall or cot, 
Ne'er curses Fate or mourns his lot; 
If rich — despises not the poor, 
Nor drives them harshly from his door ; 
If low in fortune — ne'er envies 
The wealthy' s pomp that meets his eyes ; 
For oft within their bosom reigns 
A raving group of nameless pains, 
That ceaseless torture, growl and fret ; 
And when they fall, the ruin's great ; 
Sinking, they eye the humble clown, 
Grasp at a spade, and spurn a crown. 
One sunny evening, calm and fair, 
A Fly that wing'd the fragrant air, 
In wheeling past a village lane, 
By chance popt through a broken pane. 
A scene that ne'er had met his sight, 
He now surveys with doubtful flight ; 
Around the room, with airy drone, 
His curious search had circling gone. 
He views its bounds, and yet more bold, 
Pries o'er the walls, damp, moulded, cold ; 
Then, pertly sneering, thus began : 
'* How wretched are th' abodes of man I 
How rank the smell — whoe'er comes near it, 
May guess the owner's taste and spirit." 
This said, and roving round, he spies 
An object, that engag'd his eyes. 

c 2 

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24 wilson's poems. 

Within a glass a moving being, 

Sluggish and black ; which Bizzon seeing, 

Perch'd on the bottle — gazed with mock, 

And thus the foppish flutterer spoke : 

" And what art thou, poor grov'lling creature, 

Of such detested hue and feature ; 

That sunk, amid that putrid fluid, 

So closely crammed, so irksome bowed, 

Scarce seems to move through scanty water? 

An ugly hulk of lifeless matter ; 

Shame ! thus to loll, while summer hours 

Invite thee forth, through blooming flowers 

Enrapt to rove ; or, where the field 

Of blossom'd beans their fragrance yield ; 

Or wanton in the noontide beam ; 

Or skim along the glitt'ring stream 

With boundless sweep — but thou, lone wretch ! 

Must here remain, till death shall fetch 

Thee from this hold, with furious ire, 

And tread thy carcase in the mire. 

A life like this what beast could dree, 

'Twere death and worse to ought but thee." 

Thus Bizzon spoke, when from her font 
The Leech uprear'd her dark-brown front, 
And thus replied, in solemn mood : 
" Know, vainest of thy useless brood ! 
Thou hast my scorn — I too might rail, 
But listen to my humble tale : 
" Ne'er make, by outward signs, thy guess, 
Nor think, though poor, my peace is less. 
Composed I live, and from my bower 
Survey the bustling world, secure. 
Or when some stubborn rank disease 
Calls for my aid, to give men ease, 
I glad obey, and suck the ill, 
In my own breast, to save them still ; 

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wilson's poems. 25 

Who call me blest, while kindly filling, 
From the clear brook my freshen'd dwelling, 
And in my lonely mansion here, 
Xor fatal bird, nor snare I fear, 
That constant lurk to fix thy doom, 
Ev'n while thou rambles through this room, 
As thou may feel yet ere thou leave it, 
And when 'twill be too late, believe it." 

"Poor wretch," quoth Bizzon, "mind thy distance, 
Disgra.ee of all e'er dragged existence ! 
I scorn thy speech and slavery both, 
Mean, ugly lump of bondaged sloth. 
Now, what thou art, I plainly spy; 
Blest be the power made me a Ely." 

He said — and up, exulting, springs, 
To gain the fields with sounding wings ; 
But missed his mark, and ere aware, 
Dashed full into a Spider's snare. 
He buzzed and tugged — the foe alarmed, 
Rushed gloomy forth, with vengeance armed, 
Fixes his fangs, with furious stride, 
And darts the poison through his side. 
Poor Bizzon groaned, with qui v 'ring sten, 
And as Grips dragged him to his den, 
Thus faintly cried, " Ye flies beware, 
And shun ambition's deadly snare. 
Oh ! save my life — I vain beseech : 
I faint — I die — oh ! happy Leech !" 






26 Wilson's poems. 



Hard Fate has this ordained, that I 

Maun dauner through the warl', 
The wants o' thousan's to supply, 

And heavy lades to harl : 
Sae aft, whan E'ening brings the Night, 

In lanely desolation, 
I seek a corner, out o' sight, 

To mourn my condemnation. 

The western sun, bright to the eye, 

Was sinking in the flood, 
Adorned with robes of richest dye, 

Gay crimson streaked wi' blood ; 
The swallows twittert through the sky, 

In jinking, sportive mood, 
While, prest wi' care, poor hapless I, 

Near yonder riv'let stood, 

Thoughtful that day. 

My pond'rous Pack upon the ground, 

I carelessly had flung ; 
A wallet green, wi' straps fast bound, 

And near't a hazel rung ; 
The vera sight my heart did wound, 

My breast wi' grief was stung ; 
Fir'd wi' indignance I turn'd round, 

And basht wi' mony a fung 

The Pack, that day. 

" Thou cursed, base, inglorious load ! 

(Enrag'd wi' grief I cry'd) 
Shall thou along the weary road 

Borne on my shouthers ride. 
While crusht beneath I groaning nod, 

And travel far and wide — 
Hence ! frae my sight, or wi' this clod, 

I'll dash thy hated hide, 

This vera day. 



@ 

wilson's poems. 27 

" Nay, no excuse — I wiiina hear, 

I winna tak' a word in ; 
What ! was these shouthers form'd to bear 

Thee, vile, disgraceful.' burden ? 
My lugs to thole ilk taunt and jeer, 

That pierce me like a sword in ? 
Crouchin' to ev'ry wretch to speer, 

Mem! will ye buy a bargain 

Right cheap, the day ? 

" It fires, it boils my vera blude, 

And sweets me at ilk pore, 
To think how aft I'm putten wud, 

Whan drawing near a door ; 
Out springs the mastiff, through the mud, 

Wi' fell Cerberian roar, 
And growling, as he really would 

Me instantly devour, 

Alive, that day. 
" Ye're come frae Glasgow, lad, I true ; 

(The pert guidwife presumes ;) 
Ye'll be a malefactor too, 

Ye'll hae yer horse and grooms ; 
Yfhat de'il brings siccan chaps like you, 

To lea' your wabs and looms ? 
Wi' beggars, packmen, and sic crew, 

Our door it never tooms, 

The live-lang day. 
" ' Nae doubt ye'll e'en right hungry be, 

I see your belly's clung ; 
I hae some parritch here to gi'e, 

As soon's a sang ye've sung. 
Come, lilt it up wi' blithsome glee ; 

Ye're supple, smart and young, 
And gien ye please our John and me, 

Ye'se get the kirnan rung 

To lick, this day.' 

@ 



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28 wilson's poems. 

" What flesh and blude could thole this jaw, 

And no start in a rage, 
And kick their heels up ane and a', 

E'en though he war a sage ? 
Aft hae I dar't them, grit and sma', 

Gin they durst but engage, 
Their noses in their a to thraw, 

And screw't as firm's a wedge, 

Eight smart, that day. 
" thou, who 'midst the muses all, 

Plays while they rapt 'ring sing, 
Attentive hear thy vot'ry's call, 

And view his drooping wing. 
How mournful, how forlorn I crawl, 

Far frae Parnassian spring ; 
Oh ! deign to stoop, and from this thrall 

Thy once-loved Bardie bring, 

In haste, this day." 

I ceased — and to my huge amaze, 

That bordert maist on fear, 
Upon ae end the Wallet raise, 

Tho' cram't wi' silken gear ; 
While I, wild glowrt, to see its ways, 

And stood a' een and ear, 
It solemn shook its verdant claes, 

Syne in tone hoarse and queer, 

Thus spoke, that day. 
" Ye proud, provoking, hair-braint ass ! 

Owre lang I've borne your bleth'ring, 
I've lain a' frying on the grass, 

To hear your nonsense gath'ring. 
Ye've brought me to a bonny pass, 

Since your rhyme wings war feathering, 
And now, set up your saucy jaws ! 

Earth ! ye deserve a leathering, 

Eight snell, this day. 

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wilson's poems. 29 

" Ha'e ye sae soon forgot the gude 

Whilk I ha'e aften doon you ? 
Had ye no ance aneath me stood, 

John swore that he wad poon you, 
Whan ye fell in the snawy flood, 

I truntl't frae aboon you, 
Or trouth ye'd soon been flesh and blood, 

For craws to pick, and spoon you 

Wi' their nebs, that day. 

" Weel may ye mind, yon night sae black, 

Whan fearfu' winds loud gurled, 
And mony a lum dang down — and stack, 

Heigh i' the air up swirled, 
Alangst yon brae, ye clam, and stack, 

Down whiles like to be whirled, 
Had I no slippet aff yer back, 

And ere I stoppet, hurled 

To the fit, that night. 
" No to relate how aft, in barns, 

When night without did bluster, 
On me ye've laid yer crazy haras, 

And fixt me for a bouster. 
There wad ye lie, and sit by turns, 

And rhyme e'en in that posture, 
Or through the thack survey the starns, 

Till glimm'ring night did foster 

The new-born day. 
"For me, indeed (I scorn to wheese) 

Ye've tholt some bits o' losses ; 
For me ye've waded to the knees, 

Through gutters, bogs, and mosses ; 
For me, adventured foaming seas, 

And met wi' mony crosses ; 
For me, ye've tell't ten thousand lies, 

And measurt stairs and closses, 

For mony a day. 



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WILSON S POEMS. 

" But than, reflect what blissful gluts 

O' parritch ye ha'e buried 
Within the caverns o' yer guts, 

While wi' me ye ha'e tarried ; 
What dawds o' cheese, frae out yer clauts, 

Wi' fury ye ha'e worried ; 
How aft lain dozin out yer wits, 

Disdaining to be hurried 

By ought, that day. ' 

" Gude guide's !" quo' I, "thou's get the gree 

O' wallets, de'ils, or witches : 
A speaking Pack's owre learnt for me, 

Or ane that steers and fitches. 
What kens, but thou may master be, 

And haul me through the ditches, 
Or may-be learn (preserves !) to flee, 

And lea' me in the clutches 

O' rags, some day." 

" Ungratefu' sinner ! think how aft 

I've filt yer pouch wi' catter — " 
" For gudesake whisht ! we're baith gane daft, 

It's nonsense a' this splutter. 
Come to my shouthers, warp and waft, 

Kae mair we'll ilyte and chatter ;" 
Sae aff I trudged alang the craft, 

And ended a' the clatter, 

In peace, that day. 



AND ADDRESSED TO ITS OWNER. 

Great son of Bacchus ! and of drowsy sloth ! 
Thou human maggot, thou insipid moth ! 
Whose whole ambition is in bed to snore, 
Whose life is liquor, and whose soul's a roar. 



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wilson's poems. 31 

Through thy dark skull ne'er peept a ray of light ; 
'Tis black as chaos, and eternal night ; 
Confusion's dizzy seat, — the pregnant source, 
Where Nonsense issues with resounding force ; 
Where floods on floods, from morn to Ev'ning pours, 
Wrapt up in laughs and loud unchristian roars. 

When Sunday summons grave religious fools, 
To pore o'er books, or drink the pulpit rules, 
From vulgar bounds thou bravely dares to tread, 
And spends thy Sunday gloriously in bed. 
There thinks, perhaps, or dreams of sin and death, 
This maxim holding as a point of faith, 
" To heaven there's many ways, and 'tis confest, 
Who finds the smoothest, surely finds the best." 

On God, or temple, no respect thou puts : 
An inn's thy temple, and thy God's thy guts. 

A father's precepts, or a mother's tears, 
His plain example, or her meddling fears, 
Shall thou regard ? No, 'twere past utt'rance low, 
Such fools as mothers or old sires to know. 
When at thy honour they advance their horns, 
Thou d — ns her nonsense, — all his maxims scorns ; 

Comes home mad drunk, and, O immortal B ! 

Kicks up a dust, and knocks thy mother down ! 



1 

Hot Summer reign'd, and the bright orb of day 
High over head roll'd on his cloudless way ; 
No rains appear'd to cheer the parched earth, 
Nor dewy evenings swell'd the oaten birth, 
Nor cooling breezes, cuii'd along the^streams, 
Where youths repair'd, to shun the scorching beams ; 
Ten thousand insects swarm the sultry air, 
Crowd in each room, and haunt us ev'ry where; 
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32 wilson's poems. 

While, mute, the warblers to the groves retreat, 
And seek the shade, to shun the burning heat. 

Two sick'ning months had thus roll'd joyless by, 
While heat reign'd tyrant from the vaulted sky, 
Again the sun rose in the flaming east, 
And pour'd his rays o'er earth and ocean's breast ; 
But ere yon high meridian he had gain'd, 
Surrounding clouds his dark'ning visage stain'd : 
Clouds piled on clouds, in dismal huge array, 
Swell from the south, and blot the face of day. 
O'er the bleak sky a threat'ning horror spreads ; 
The brooks brawl hoarser from their distant beds : 
The coming storm, the woodland natives view, 
Stalk to the caves, or seek the sheltering yew ; 
There, pensive droop, and eye the streaming rain, 
While light'ning sweeps, and thunder shakes the 
plain. 

Dire is the state of the old wand'ring swain, 
Who sees the storm, and hurries o'er the plain ; 
The plain, far waste, unknown to human tread, 
The gloom, fast mingling, dismal o'er his head. 
No cottage near, to shield his hoary age ; 
All earth denies him refuge from its rage. 
'Tis black around ! swift from the threat'ning skies, 
A sudden flash darts on his startled eyes. 
Trembling he stops, but how aghast his soul, 
When bursting, harsh, rebounding thunders roll ! 
The loud'ning roar confounds his tortured ear, 
His distant friends call forth the briny tear ; 
Till (hapless swain !) the fiery bolt of death, 
Extends him lifeless o'er the with'ring heath. 

The low-hung clouds, broke by this mighty sound, 
Pour down a deluge, o'er the gaping ground : 
Each slate, each tile, teems with a streaming rill ; 
Thick falls the clattering torrent — thicker still ; 
While through the wat'ry element, the flash 
Of vivid light'ning, blazes on the sash ; 



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wilson's poems. 33 

While follows, slow, the loud tremendous roar, 
As heav'n itself was in dread fragments tore. 
Down hurls the boiling brook — hush'd is the breeze — 
Brooks rise to rivers — rivers swell to seas — 
Smooth-gliding Cart, theme of my infant song, 
Swell'd, broad and brown, resistless pours along, 
In winding majesty, where Damon's dome, 
Half launch'd, detains big whit'ning hills of foam ; 
Then raves, loud thund'ring o'er the ragged rocks, 
Sweeps headlong down tumult 'ous planks and blocks, 
While crowds of millers gaze and tear their dusty 

locks. 
Thus foaming Cartha swells from shore to shore, 
While distant counties listen to her roar. 

Lone, on her banks, the rain-soak'd fisher strays, 
Intent and mindless of the involved rays, 
Though the bleak heav'ns emit their wat'ry store, 
With rapid force, and lash the foamy shore ; 
Calm and undaunted, 'mongst his lines he works, 
And through red light'ning eyes the floating corks. 

Slow pass'd the day, till dreadful night o'erspread 
A dismal darkness o'er each mortal's head ; 
No moon appear'd, no star beam'd to the eye, 
Uproar raved monarch through the affrighted sky ; 
Stern Thunder storm'd imperious from his throne, 
Hail furious flew and sweepy light'ning shone. 

Shrunk to the close recesses of the room, 
Assembled neighbours sat, in solemn gloom ; 
All eye, to catch the frequent startling flash, 
All ear, when roar'd the awe-impressing crash ; 
Fear sat on ev'ry brow, and Guilt, distrest, 
Believed each bolt directed to his breast. 

Kind is that pow'r whose dread commanding voice, 
Lulls the loud tempest's wild discordant noise. 
With us he bids best blessings long delay, 
While harsh disasters post in speed away. 
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WILSON S POEMS. 



Soon as young morn gain'd on the sulky night, 
A beauteous prospect met th' enraptured sight : 
The pearly dew-drops twinkled on the spray, 
And larks, ascending, welcomed in the day ; 
Bright Phoebus ush'ring from his wat'ry bed, 
Superbly rose and cheer'd the drooping mead ; 
Fleet fled the shades of night, waked from the grove, 
Glad chant the birds, soft coos the hermit dove ; 
High from the blue expanse his glory pours, 
Boundless, abroad, and dyes the glitt'ring flow'rs ; 
Lambs dance, and brooks, melodious, murm'ringrun ; 
Creation smiles, and hails the glorious sun. . 



ON THE LONG EXPECTED DEATH OF A WRETCHED MISER. 

Wealth he has none, who mourns his scanty store, 
And, midst of plenty, starves, and thinks he's poor. 

Pope. 

Wi' branchin' birk your winnocks hing, 
Whang down the cheese owre heaps o' bread ; 

Roun' wi' the blue, and roar and sing, 
For comsheugh auld F s is dead. 

Hech ! is he dead ? then ilka chiel 
May now be fear't for Death's fell nips, 

Since he wha faced the vera De'il, 
Has fa'n beneath the spectre's grips. 

Whare will the god o' gowden ore, 

Light on a box wi' sic a dog, 
To guard by night and day his store, 

Since John's laid cauld below the fug? 

His fearsome blue Kilmarnock cowl, 

His cloutet hose, and sarks, and bedding, 

Wi' weel-swall't social vermin foul — 
I saw them a' flung to the midding. 



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wilson's poems. 35 

Now, Clootie, loup and shake your ruinp, 
Nae mair ye'll need at night to watch him, 

Grim glowrin' by some auld tree-stump, 
And rattlin' aims in vain to catch him. 

Nae mair need ye in corp-like shape, 
Aneath the midnight moon lie streeket ; 

Nor wi' lang clants, like ony graip, 
Wauk through his bield, and doors a' steeket. 

Whiles, like a cat, ye'd tread his skelf, 

And range amang his plates and bannocks ; 

Whiles rumlin' owre his box't-up pelf, 
Or chappin' awsome at his winnocks. 

But a' your schemes, and a' your plots. 
And a' the midnight frights ye lent him ; 

And a' the fear o' tyning notes, 

Was naething, till a wife ye sent him. 

" A Wife ! a curse !" (quo' John, in rage, 

Soon as his tickling heat abated,) 
" A black, bare whore, to vex my age !" 

He said, he girn't, swore, and regretted. 

His dearie, glad o' siccan routh, 

To mill a note was aye right ready : 
Aft she wad kiss his toothless mouth, 

While John keen ca'd her his ain lady. 

When in the bed, (whare a' fouks gree) 

And John laid soun' wi' Venus' capers, 
She raise — lowst frae his breeks the key, 

Slade up the lid, and poucht the papers. 

This pass't a wee, till roused he ran, 

He visited his cash, — his heav'n ; 
He coudna see, but trem'lin' fan' 

A yearly income frae him riv'n. 

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36 wilson's poems. 

O then what tortures tare his soul ! 

He groan'd, he spat, he glowrt, he shor'd out; 
Then rais't a most tremendous growl, 

Sunk by the box, and desperate roar'd out : 

" My soul — my all — my siller's fled ! 
Fled wi' a base confounded limmer ! 

grief o' griefs ! alake, my head ! 
My head rins roun', my een grow dimmer. 

Wi' meikle, meikle f aught and care, 
And mony a lang night's fell vexation, 

1 toil'd, and watch'd to keep it there, 
And now I'm left in black starvation. 

My meal, like snaw afore the sin, 
It's aye ga'n doon and aye beginning, 

Lade after lade she orders in, 

And than for trash she's ever rinning. 

A' day she'll drink and flyte and roar, 
A' night she tears me wi' her talons, 

And gin I crawl but frae the door 

I'm hunted hame wi' dogs and callans. 

My sons, wi' chan'ler chasts gape roun', 
To rive my gear, my siller frae me ; 

While lice and fleas, and vermin brown, 
Thrang in my sarks, eternal flae me. 

Ye precious remnants ! curst to me ; 

Ye dearest gifts to John e'er given, 
Wi' you I've lived, wi' you I'll die, 

Wi' you I'll gang to H-U or Heaven." 

He spak' ; and on the vera spot, 
Kamt goud and notes, wi' trem'ling hurry, 

In han'fu's down his gorged-up throat, 
While blude lap frae his een in fury. 



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wilson's poems. 37 

I saw wi' dread, and ran my lane, 

To clear his throat and ease his breathing ; 

But ere I reach' t he gied a grane, 
And lifeless lay alang the leathing. 



mmu Ui 



To hail sweet Morn, and trace the woody shore, 
Where foaming Calder pours his rapid stream, 

His high-hung banks, and tott'ring cliffs t' explore, 
And gloomy caves, unknown to Sol's fair beam. 

Three youthful swains the adjoining village left, 
Ere from a chimney roli'd the lazy smoke, 

Ere the lone street of silence was bereft, 

Or pale-eyed morning to the view had broke. 

Along a winding path they kept their way, 
Where trees, embracing, hung a solemn shade ; 

Pass'd the old mill o'ergrown with shaggy hay, 
And gain'd the summit of a rising glade. 

Now, from the east, the faintly dawning morn, 
With op'ning smile, adorn'd the dewy mead ; 

The blackbird whistled from the blooming thorn, 
And early shepherd tuned his rural reed. 

Gray mists were hov'ring round the mountain's brow ; 

Through the still air murmur'd the riv'let near ; 
The fields were glitt'ring in the morning's glow ; 

And sweetest music thrill'd the ravish'd ear. 

Smit with the charms of song, Philander stood, 

To hear his art by each small throat outdone ; 
While Damon view'd the stream, grim rocks and 

AVOOd, 

And snatch'd the pencil to make all his own. 

D 



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38 wilson's poems. 

Beneath a rev'rend oak Alexis hung, 
His drooping head half on his hand reclined ; 

Borne on the Muse's wing, his soul had sprung, 
And left the languid, listless form behind. 

Where now was Care, that gloomy, glaring fiend, 
The wealthy's horror and the poor man's pain, 

Who bids fierce passions tear the trembling mind, 
And wakes his gnawing, his infernal train. 

Fled was the spectre to some statesman's breast, 
Some raving lover, or some miser's cell ; 

Nought now appear'd but made them inly blest, 
And all around conspired their joys to swell. 

Hail, happy swains ! involved in rapt'rous thought, 
Oh ! could I leave you thus, and truly say, 

That here, in peace, fair nature's charms you sought, 
And thus, enrapt, you pass'd the morn away. 

But truth compels, nor dare I hide your fate, 

My trembling hand she guides to tell your doom, 

How oft, alas ! on mirth does mis'ry wait, 
How oft is sunshine sunk in deepest gloom ! 

As on the airy steep they silent lay, 

The murm'ring river foaming far below, 

Young Damon's dog, as round he ranged for prey, 
By some stern bull insulted, seiz'd the foe. 

As when in dead of night, on the dark main, 
Two en'mies meet, and awful silence keep, 

Sparkles the match ! then peals and cries of pain, 
Arouse the night, and growl along the deep. 

So burst loud roarings through the affrighted sky, 
Firm Roger hung, fix'd by his nostrils deep ; 

Loud swell'd the war, till, from the margin high, 
Both whirl'd down headlong o'er the enormous 
steep. 



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Wilson's poems. 39 

How look'd our youths ! they heard the thund'ring 
sound, 

Dash'd in the vale they saw the heroes laid ; 
Whole crowds of rustics rudely gath'ring round, 

Alarm'd they saw, and through the bushes fled. 



S C E N E — T HE TOWN. 

Now darkness blackens a' the streets ; 
The rowan e'e nae object meets, 

Save yon cauld cawsey lamp, 
That has survived the dreary night, 
And lanely beams wi' blinking light, 

Eight desolate and damp. 

Fore-doors and winnocks still are steeket, 
And cats, wi' silent step, and sleeket, 

Watch whare the rattons twirl ; 
Or met in yards, like squads o' witches, 
Eive ither's hair out wi' their clutches, 

An' screech wi' eldritch skirl. 

Now mony a ane secure frae harm, 
Lies row't in blankets snug and warm, 

Amused wi' gowden dreams ; 
While ithers scart their sides and lugs, 
Tormented wi' infernal bugs, 

Thick swarming frae the seams. 

Some sunk amid their kimmers' arms, 
Are hugging matrimonial charms, 

In bliss and rapture deep ; 
Some turning, curse the greeting wight 
For skirling a' the live-long night, 

And keeping them frae sleep. 



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40 



WILSON S POEMS. 



Some weary wight, perhaps like me, 
Doom'd poverty's distress to dree, 

Misfortune's meagre brither ; 
Now dauners out beneath the starns, 
Wi' plans perplexing still his harns, 

To keep his banes thegither. 

Now lasses start their fires to kin'le, 
And load the chimly wi' a tanle 

0' bleezing coals and cinders ; 
Syne scowr their stoups and tankards clear, 
And glasses dight wi' canny care, 

To grace the gentry's dinners. 

Wi' clippit feathers, kame and chirle, 

The gamester's cock, frae some auld burr el, 

Proclaims the morning near; 
Ilk chiel now frae his hammock jumps, 
The floor receives their lang bare stumps, 

And wives and a's asteer. 

Now reek rows briskly out the lums ; 
Loud through the street the piper bums; 

In highland vigour gay. 
Doors, hatches, winnock-brods are steering ; 
And ev'ry ane in short's preparing, 

To meet the toils o' day. 



A FABLE. — TO A YOUNG AUTHOR. 

The bard who'd wish to merit bays, 
Should shut his ears when asses praise, 
And from the real judge alone, 
Expect a halter or a throne. 

A Monkey who, in leisure hours, 
Was wondrous fond of herbs and flow'rs, 



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WILSON'S POE3IS. 41 

(For once he'd worn a gard'ner's chain, 
But wander'd to his woods again,) 
Travers'd the banks — the mountain's brow, 
The lonely wilds — the valley low, 
Collecting, as along he hies, 
Flowers of unnurnber'd tint and size, 
Till hid beneath the lovely spoil, 
He onward stalk'd with cheerful toil, 
Thus chatting : " Now, I'll shine alone, 
I'll have a garden of my own." 

A spot he plans, to shew his parts, 
Scratches the soil — the blooms inserts. 
Here stuck a rose, there placed a pink ; 
With various flowers stuffs ev'ry chink ; 
Torn branches form his spreading shrubs, 
O'ertopt with stately shepherds' clubs ; a 
Long ragged stones roll'd on the border, 
All placed sans root, or taste, or order. 

Around him throng'd the mimic crew, 
Amazed at the appearance new, 
Survey'd the shrubs — the nodding flowers, 
And struck with wonder at his powers, 
Pronounced him, with applauding gape, 
A most expert, ingenious Ape ! 
"Knew man the genius you inherit, 
Unbounded fame would crown your merit." 
He proudly bow'd, approved their taste, 
And for the town prepares in haste, 
When now, amid the ragged ranks, 
A Bee appear'd, with searching shanks ; 
From bloom to bloom she roved alone, 
With hurrying flight and solemn drone. 
Pug saw ; and proud of such a guest, 
Exclaim'd, "Say, friend, did such a feast 
E'er bless thy search ? Here welcome stray ; 
Fresh sweets shall load thee ev'ry day ; 

a A species of wild flowers. 



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42 wilson's poems. 

'Twas I that rear'd them — all is mine ; 
I bore the toil, the bliss be thine." 
" Conceited fool ! the Bee replied, 
Those pilfer'd, rootless blooms I've tried, 
Nor bliss, nor sweets, repaid my pains, 
Of these as void as thou'rt of brains." 
She spoke ; the scorching noontide came, 
The garden with'ring, sunk his fame. 



Lean not on Earth, 'twill pierce thee to the heart, 

A broken reed at best, but oft a spear, 

On its sharp point Peace bleeds and Hope expires. 

Young. 

Beneath a range of elms, whose branches throw 
A gloomy shade upon the path below, 
There, scarcely shelter 'd from the evening wind, 
A youth, slow wandering, pensively reclined ; 
Sunk were his eyes, his visage deadly wan, 
Deep, deep, he groan'd, and thus in grief began : 

Blest were those times that now, alas ! are fled, 
When health and plenty wanton'd round my head ! 
When all my griefs were sunk in downy rest, 
And peace and pleasure dwelt within my breast ! 
Then smiling swains assembled in my train, 
Hung on my arm delighted with my strain, 
Prest, when I spoke, with eager warmth my hand, 
And begg'd the blessing but to be my friend. 
Extoll'd my worth and pointed to a store 
Of wealth and joy when all my toils were o'er. 
My verse, they said, would cease not to inspire 
While time remain'd, or mortals to admire. 

Dear, dear to me were friendship's clasping arms, 
But dearer far the young Lavinia's charms. 



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wilson's poems. 43 

Friendship, if real, our distress may share, 
But love can soothe, can sweeten every care. 
Sweet were the hours.- that fann'd our mutual flame, 
And soft the strain that breathed her charming name. 
Her face, her form as beauty's self were fair, 
For every grace and every charm were there. 
Our thoughts were guileless, pure our growing flame, 
Our minds, our wishes, and our hearts the same. 
No fears could damp, no foes our hopes destroy, 
But each young moment brought an age of joy. 

These were the times that promis'd bliss in store, 
But these, alas, will visit me no more. 
Ah, why should beings frail as bark can be, 
Trust the smooth calm of life's uncertain sea, 
That, rising, roars around the helpless crew, 
And whelms their hopes for ever from their view, 
Death, whose dread frown can chill the boldest 

heart, 
Spread his cold horrors o'er my dearest part ; 
Thrice pale Lavinia panting by my side, 
Moan'd out my name in accents faint, and died ! 
O where shall anguish fit expression find 
To paint the woes of my distracted mind, 
When all I loved, and all I wish'd to have, 
Sunk from my arms into the yawning grave. 

Kind is the world and eager to befriend 
While health and success on our steps attend ; 
But let the tempest of misfortune roar, 
We hear its offers and its vows no more. 
'Twas now while ruin growl'd around my head 
That all my worth and all my prospects fled, 
Health, comfort, peace, and with them every friend, 
Whose heart could soothe, or pity, or defend ; 
Ev'n hope itself, Fate calls me to forego, 
And nought remains but a whole world of woe. 



a 



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44 



WILSON S POEMS. 



O Death! thou friend, thou sovereign cure indeed, 
When wilt thou bid this bosom cease to bleed. 
To thee I look, to thee distrest and wan, 
To seal those sorrows that thy arm began ; 
Life wrings my soul with agonising care, 
And earth can give no comfort but despair. 

Here ceased he sad, and heaved the deep-felt sigh, 
While fast the tears stole down from either eye ; 
Bleak blew the wind, the darkness blacker grew, 
And slow the youth with feeble pace withdrew. 



Wha, like true brethren o' the thumle, 
Saved aye a remnant as his due ; 

And ne'er was heard to grudge or grum'le, 
As lang's he fan' his belly fu'. 

O sirs, he's e'en awa' indeed, 

Nae mair to shape or draw a thread, 

Or spin a crack, or crump his bread, 

And hotch and gigle ; 
Or wave the elwan owre his head 

To fight the beagle. 

In mornings soon, ere sax o'clock, 
When blankets hap a' sober fouk, 
When fires are out and shoon and troke 

Confuse the floor, 
Nae mair we'll start to heat his knock, 

And roaring stoor. 

Whan days war caul', near bit by bit, 
Close at the glowan ribs he'd sit, 
And ilka wee the eldin hit, 

And gab fu' trimly ; 
And aye the tither mouthfu' spit 

Alangst the chimly. 



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tvilson's poems. 45 

Ye creepin' beasts that hotch and wheel 
Through neuks o' breeks, and ye that speel, 
Swart, gray and fat, now lift ilk heel 

Wi' gleefu' speed ; 
And up the seams in hun'ers reel, 

Since Eabby's dead. 

Assemble a' ye swarmin' legions, 

Baith jumpin' black and creeshy sage anes, 

And, rank and file, parade your cage ance, 

Nor needless dread, 
But loud proclaim through a' yer regions, 

That Eabby's dead. 

Nae mair his thum's to death shall post ye ; 
Nae mair his needle points shall toast ye ; 
Nor shall his horrid goose e'er roast ye, 

For hear't, oh lice ! 
Death's made yer foe as cauld and frosty, 

As ony ice. 

Wi' wonder aft I've seen him worry 
Up cogs o' kail in hungry hurry ; 
Grip up the cheese in gaping fury, 

And hew down slices, 
Syne punds o't in his entrails bury, 

In lumps and pieces. 

Twa pints o' weel-boilt solid sowins, 
Wi' whauks o' gude ait-far'le cowins, 
Synt down wi' whey, or whiskey lowins, 

Before he'd want, 
Wad scarce ha'e ser't the wretch to chew ance, 

Or choke a gant. 

Yet Kabby aye was dousely dautet ; 
For soon as ilka dish was clautet, 



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46 wilson's poems. 

He'd lift his looves and een, and fa' to't, 
Owre plates and banes, 

And lengthen out a grace weel sautet 
Wi' holy granes. 

Aft ha'e I heard him tell o' frights, 
Sad waefu' sounds and dreary sights, 
He's aften got frae warlock wights, 

And Spunkie's bleeze, 
Gaun hame through muirs and eerie heights 

O' black fir trees. 

Ae night auld Bessie Baird him keepet, 
Thrang clouting claes till twall was chappet ; 
But soon he's got his kyte weel stappet 

Wi' something stout ; 
And goose in's nieve, right snugly happet, 

He daunert out. 

Maist hame, he met a lang black chiel, 
Wi' hugger s, stilts, and pocks o' meal, 
Wha drew a durk o' glancin steel 

To rob an' maul him. 
Rab rais't his brod wi' desp'rate wheel, 

And left him sprawlin'. 

Though aft by fiends and witches chas't, 
And mony a dead man's glowrin' ghaist ; 
Yet on his knees he ae time fac't 

The De'il himsel' ; 
And sent him aff in dreadfu' haste, 

Roarin' to h — 11. 

But oh, ae night proved his mishap, 
Curse on the wide-moutht whiskey cap ; 
Beware, beware o' sic fell sap, 

Ye tailor chiels, 
Eor Rabby drank owre deep a drap 

0' Janet Steel's. 

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Wilson's poems. 47 

Mirk was the night — out Kabby doitet, 
Whiles owre big stanes, his shins he knoitet, 
Alangst the dam the bodie stoitet, 

Wi' staucherin' flounge, 
Till, hale- sale, in the lade he cloitet, 

Wi' dreadful' plunge. 

Loud though he roart, nane was asteer, 
His yells and fearfu' granes to hear ; 
The current suckt him near and near, 

Till, wi' a whirl, 
The big wheel crusht his guts and gear, 

Like ony burrel. 

Next morning, gin the peep o' day, 
Alang the stanes cauld dead he lay ; 
Crowds ran to hear the fatal fray, 

Wives, weans, and men 
Lamentin', while they saw his* clay, 

Poor Kabby's end. 



Falkland,* October . 

From that same spot where once a palace stood, 
Now hanging drear, in tott'ring fragments, rude ; 
While through the roofless walls the weather howls, 
The haunt of pigeons and of lonely owls. ) 
These lines receive — for, hark ! the lashing rain, 
In streaming torrents pours along the plain : 
Yet, snugly here I sit, with quiet blest ; 
While my poor pack sits perching on a chest. 

To him whose soul on fancy's heights ne'er soar'd, 
How painful Solitude, and how abhorr'd; 
Time tardy steals, we curse the lazy sage ; 
And ling'ring moments lengthen to an age. 

a A small Town in Fifeshire, where our Scots Kings used some- 
times to reside. 



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48 Wilson's poems. 

Not so with him oh whom the Muses smile ; 
Each hour they sweeten, and each care beguile ; 
Yet scorn to visit, or ev'n once be kind, 
While bustling bus'ness justles through the mind : 
But, when retir'd from noise, he lonely roves, 
Through flow'ry banks or solitary groves ; 
Leans on the velvet turf — explores a book, 
Or eyes the bubbling of the ceaseless brook ; 
The Muse descends, and swells his throbbing breast, 
To joys, to raptures ne'er to be exprest. 

Curst is the wretch whom cruel fate removes 
Far from his native, and the few he loves ; 
Who, ever-pensive, ponders on the past, 
And shrinks and trembles at misfortune's blast ; 
His is the fate that ev'n infernals share ; 
Pain, without hope, and mis'ry and despair. 

There was a time (no distant date I own) 
When such my fate was, and my every groan : 
When struggling hard for base unlasting pelf; 
I stabbed, I tortured, and I racked myself. 

And what, I pray, did all these sighs avail, 
For ever hapless, and for ever pale ? 
Inglorious period, Heavens ! it fires my soul, 
When such reflections through my bosom roll ; 
To hang the head with sorrow and remorse, 
From one poor evil raising thousands worse. 

That grief involves us in unnumbered ills, 
That with our courage all our success fails, 
That Heaven abhors and showers with fury dread, 
Tormenting ills on the repiner's head, 
You'll freely own ; but list while I relate 
A short adventure of a wretch's fate : 
A wretch whom fortune long has held in pain, 
And whose each hour some black misfortunes stain. 



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wilson's poems. 49 

'Twas when the fields were swept of autumn's store, 
And growling winds the fading foliage tore, 
Behind the Lowmon hill a , the short-lived light, 
Descending slowly ushered in the night : 
When from the noisy town, with mournful look, 
His lonely way a meagre pedlar took. 
Deep were his frequent sighs — earless his pace, 
And oft the tear stole down his cheerless face ; 
Beneath a load of silks, and sorrow bent, 
Nor knew, nor wished to know the road he went ; 
Nor cared the comiog night, or stormy air, 
For all his soul was welt'ring in despair. 

Dark fell the night, a grim, increasing gloom ; 
Dark as the horrors of his fancied doom : 
And nought was seen and nought was heard around, 
But light'ning's gleams and thunder's roar profound ; 
Swelled by he wind that howled along the plain, 
Fierce rattling hail and unrelenting rain, 
While from dark thickets issued as he past, 
Wild groans of branches bending from the blast. 
Deep sunk his steps beneath the pressing load, 
As down the rough declivity he trod, 
And gain'd the unknown vale ; there, all distrest, 
Prone on the road himself he cursing cast. 
And while the north in ceaseless rigour blew, 
And light'ning mingling with the tempest flew, 
Amid the dismal gloom he raging spurn'd 
His miry load, and thus his mis'ry mourn'd. 
" mighty Heavens ! and am I fore'd to bear 
The scourge of fate, eternally severe ? 
On me alone shall all thy fury roar ? 
Shall this determined vengeance ne'er be o'er ? 
Wretch that I am ! while ev'ry village hind, 
Sits in soft peace or dawny sleep reclined, 

a A huge mountain that rises near Falkland. 
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WILSON S POEMS. 



Here, hopeless here, in grim despair I lie, 
Lash'd by the fierce, the growling midnight sky ; 
Far from the reach of any human aid, 
Here, sunk in clay, my shivering limbs are laid ; 
And here my cares for ever will I close ; 
This night shall finish my long train of woes, 
And some lone trav'ller, struck with dread remorse, 
Start at the sight of my pale stiffen'd cor'se." 
So said, he stretch'd him in the plashy clay, 
Closed his fix'd eyes and bade adieu to day. 

" And died he?" no ! fate curs'd him still with breath, 
And ev'n withheld that gloomy blessing, death. 
He groan'd — and thrice, in agonizing strife, 
Unlock'd his eyes, but found he still had life. 
Mean-time along the road, in swift approach, 
Sudden advanced a furious rattling coach ; 
The neighing steeds before the lashing whip, 
Loud clattering, flew adown the rapid steep. 
Our hero heard, and starting all aghast, 
Aside himself, and trailing budget cast, 
While harsh, the huge machine shot loud rethunder- 
ing past. 

Then raising up his load, in sullen state, 
Eesolved no more to curse resisting fate ; 
A distant light appear'd from some lone cot, 
And thither joy'd, his way he plodding sought ; 
Was kindly welcomed to their homely fare ; 
Hung o'er the hearth, and talk'd away his care. 

From this, my friend, one maxim you may glean, 
Ne'er of misfortunes grudgingly complain ; 
Boldly to struggle, shows a courage bright, 
For none but cowards sink beneath the weight, 
And those who gain fame, fortune, or the fair, 
Rise o'er despondence, and contemn despair. 



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wilson's poems. 51 



Edinburgh, ■ 



While rains are blatt'ring frae the south, 

And down the lozens seeping, 
And hens in mony a cauld closs-mouth, 
Wi' hinging tails are dreeping, 

The Muse and me, 
Wi' friendly glee, 
Hae laid our heads thegither, 

Some rhyme to pen, 
Syne bauldly sen' 
To you the jingling blether. 

Auld Reekie for this month and mair, 

Has held me in her bosom ; 
Her streets a' streaming like a fair, 

Wi' mony a beauteous blossom ; 

Their bosoms whilk, 
Seen through the silk, 

Heav'd up sae blest uneven, 

Maist gars me swear, 
To tempt us here 

Jove drapt them down frae heaven. 

Here strutting wi' their glitt'ring boots, 

And fluttering a' wi' ruffles, 
The coxcomb keen to rax his boots, 

Alang the plainstanes shuffles : 

Wi' sweet perfumes, 
Like apple blooms, 

He fills the air aroun' ; 

His hale employ, 
How to enjoy 

The pleasures of the town. 

Fair as the gay enrapt'ring Nine, 
That tread the famed Parnassus, 

D 4 



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52 wilson's poems. 

And ranged in mony a glorious line, 
Appear the bouncing lasses ; 

Whase shape, adzooks ! 

And killing looks, 
And claes like e'ening cluds, 

Wad hermits fire 

Wi' fond desire, 
To leave their caves and woods. 

Here mony a wight frae mony a place, 

At mony an occupation, 
Exhibits mony a groosome face, 
In hurrying consternation ; 

Some shaking bells, 
Some hammering stells, 
Some cobblin' shoon in cloysters ; 

Here coaches whirling, 
There fish- wives skirling, 
" Whay'll buy my cauler oysters ?" 

But, see yon dismal form that louts, 

Black crawling owre a midding, 
Thrang scarting cinders up, and clouts, 
That i' the awse lie hidden ; 

While round her lugs, 

Poor starving dogs, 
Glowre fierce wi' hungry gurle ; 

She wi' a clash 

O' dirt or awse, 
Begins a horrid quarrel. 

Sic creatures dauner auld and clung, 

Whan morning rises gawsey ; 
And mony a hutch o' human dung 
Lies skinkling owre the cawsey : 

Out-through't wat shod, 
I've aften trod, 

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wilson's poems. 53 

Wi' heart uiaist like to scunner, 

Obliged to rin, 

Least like a lin, 
Some tubfu' down might thun'er. 

O shocking theme ! but, sir, to you 

I leave the moralizing, 
Ye hae the pictures in your view 
Mair orthodox than pleasing. 

Farewell a wee ; 

Lang may ye be 
Wi' fortune blest in season, 

Within your arms 

To clasp the charms 
That kings wad joy to gaze'on. 



Bright Phoebus had left his meridian height, 

And downwards was stealing serene, 
The meadows breathed odour, and slowly the night 

Was sadd'ning the midsummer scene ; 

When down from his garret, where many a long day 

Hard poverty held the poor sinner, 
A pale tattered poet pursued his lone way, 

To lose thought of care — and of dinner. 

The lark high in air warbled out her sweet notes, 

The cuckoo was heard from the hill ; 
Each thicket re-echo'd with musical throats, 

And gay glanced the murmuring rill. 

Enrapt with the prospect, the bard gazed around, 

Where Flora her treasures had wasted, 
Thrice smote his full breast — raised his eyes from the 
ground, 

And thus great Apollo requested : 

D 5 

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54 wilson's poems. 

" thou who o'er Heaven's empyrean height, 

Swift whirls on the chariot of day ; 
Thou father of music, thou fountain of light, 

Propitiously hear while I pray. 

Let no surly clouds, I beseech thee, let none 

The mild, lucid hemisphere rise in, 
Till down to the verge of old ocean thou'rt gone, 

And Thetis receives thee rejoicing. 

With bright'ning ideas my fancy inspire, 

To wing the Parnassian mountain ; 
Ye thrice sacred Nine, your kind aid I require, 

To taste of the ravishing fountain. 

Breathe softer, kind zephyrs, oh ! pity my clothes, 
Nor rave so" — thus far flow'd his song, 

For low'ring and dismal the horizon rose, 
And clouds roll'd tumultuous along. 

The birds all affrighted shrunk mute from the spray, 
Hoarse murm'rings were heard from the river ; 

A black horrid gloom overspread the sad day, 
And made our poor poet to shiver. 

Swift full in his face the dread naming ball flash'd, 

Down rush'd a fierce torrent of rain ; 
And loud o'er his head grumbling thunder-bolts 
crash'd, 

Re-bellowing from earth back amain. 

Beneath an old hedging for shelter he crawl'd, 

And clung by a shooting of birch ; 
Crash went the weak branch, and the wretch, while 
he bawl'd, 

At once tumbled squash in the ditch. 

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wilson's poems. 55 

Half-drown'd with the deluge, and frozen with fear, 

Apollo's mad vot'ry thus splutter'd ; 
" Thou deaf, saucy scoundrel ! why did'st thou not 
hear 

The kind invocation I utter'd ? 

And you, ye curs'd Nine ! I detest your each form, 
Rank cheats ye're I know, nor shall hide it ; 

For those who won't shield a bare bard from the storm, 
Can ne'er lend him wings to avoid it." 

So said — to the village he scamper'd along, 
Poor wretch, with a petrified conscience ; 

His prayers unanswer'd — his appetite strong, 
And all his attempts gone to nonsense. 



FROM A BROTHER SKELETON. 

Is there no patron to protect the Muse, 
And hedge for her Parnassus' barren soil ? 

Thomson. 

Aloft to high Parnassus' hill, 

I beard thy prayer ascending swift ; 
And are the Nine propitious still 

To grant thy wish, and send the gift ? 
Has kind Apollo made a shift, 

To roll down from his kitchen high 
A sirloin huge — a smoking lift, 

To feed thy keen devouring eye ? 

If so, much respected swain ! 

Thou'rt surely Phoebus' fav'rite bard ; 
Thy glitt'ring blade in fatness stain, 

No more complain thy lot is hard ; 
E 



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WILSON S POEMS. 



And while the juice besmears thy beard, 
And plumps thy meagre cor'se again, 
Think what's their case who ne'er have shared 
Such bliss, but pray and yawn in vain. 

Yet, if regardless of thy strains, 

The strumpets scorn to lend an ear — 
Bestow upon thy caput brains, 

But stern refuse thy belly cheer ; 
If through thy hollow trunk thou hear, 

Oft as the steam of dinner soars, 
Kemurm'ring sounds of croaking fear, 

And melancholy quer'lous roars. 

If oft on cheerless Winter's morn, 

Thou spends with thought the shiv'ring hour, 
In solitary state forlorn, 

Like Cruickston or the Stanley tower ; 
While from thy half-clad sides the shower 

Of lashing rain or hail rebound, 
And free thy issuing toes explore 

Each miry creek, and kiss the ground. 

If ills like these, for these are mine, 

Attend thee like thy shadow close, 
Know, E — n, that the nymphs divine, 

From whom our song continual flows, 
We call them blushing as the rose, 

Endearing sweet, enrapt'ring fair ; 
They scorn for nought to take the dose, 

So pay us back in sterling air. 

If thou must eat, ferocious bard ! 

Elsewhere importune for a dinner ; 
Long thou may pray here, nor be heard, 

And praying makes thee but the thinner. 



=@ 



wilson's poems. 57 

Do like the lank, lean, ghostly sinner, 

That here presumes to give advice, 
Ne'er court the Muse for meat — to win her, 

E'en starve, and glory in the price. 
Apollo knows that three long weeks, 

And pale the prospect yet appears, 
On crusts of hard brown bread and leeks, 

I've lived, and may for rolling years ; 
Yet still the Muse most kindly cheers 

Each craving day and yawning night, 
Soft whisp'ring ever in my ears, 

"Be Fame thy belly's chief delight." 
Through future ages then thy name, 

The immortal goddess shall preserve ; 
Be this thy dear, thy envied claim, 

Eor this extend thy ev'ry nerve ; 
And should that world thou strains to serve, 

A ling'ring carcase food refuse, 
Contemn their baseness, boldly starve, 

And die a martyr for the Muse. 
More consolation I might pour, 

But, hark ! the tempest, how it blows ! 
The inconstant blast, with thund'ring roar 

O'er chimney tops more furious grows. 
The winter drop, prone from my nose, 

Hangs glist'ring in the candle's beam, 
And want and sleep's uniting throes, 

Here force me to forsake my theme. 



Erom Eife's rugged shore, where old ocean loud bel- 
lows, 
And lofty Weyms' castle a looks down o'er the main, 

a The beautiful seat of William Wemys, Esq., member of 
Parliament for the County of Fife. 

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58 wilson's poems. 

From midst an old hut of some poor fisher fellows, 
Accept of these lines from the pedlar again. 

Eor never again shall he chant through the bushes, 
That wave over Calder or Cartha's pure stream, 

Despair and distraction have murder'd his wishes, 
And all his fond hopes are dispersed to a dream. 

In vain o'er old Scotia, a stranger he travels, 

The huge smoky city or hamlet's the same ; 
Here ignorance dozes, or proud grandeur revels, 
And poets may starve, and be d — n'd now, for 
them. 
So, dear Tom, farewell I and each cheerful compa- 
nion, 
With sorrow, I bid you a long sad adieu ; 
Some far distant country for life I'll remain in, 
Where Mem'ry will weep while she hovers o'er 
you. 

So kind you have been to the fortuneless poet, 

Through all the harsh stages of life he's been in, 
That gratitude throbs in his bosom to show it, 

Yet where shall the Muse to relate them begin. 
When gloomy brow'd Want, to attack my poor 
dwelling, 

With fury advanced and merciless glare, 
Your goodness dispatched the fiend loudly yelling, 

And snatched me to peace from the jaws of Des- 
pair. 

When fortune propitiously seemed to assist me, 

You leapt at the prospect and shared in my bliss ; 
When all these evanished and horror distressed me, 

You lulled every passion and soothed me to peace. 
And shall I forget you? No, rave on thou tempest! 

Misfortune ! here pour all thy rage on my head ; 
Though foaming with fury, around thou encampest, 

'Tis friendship alone that shall force me to bleed. 



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Wilson's poems. 59 

Though joy from thy talk I will ne'er again borrow, 

Though fond, on thy face I shall never gaze more ; 
Yet Heaven one day will relieve us from sorrow, 

And join us again on a happier shore. 
Then, farewell, my friend, and my dearest compa- 
nion, 

With tears I now bid you a final adieu ; 
Some far distant country for life I'll remain on, 

Where Mem'ry shall weep while she hovers o'er 
you. 



Ah ! dark and dreary lowers the night, 
The rocking blasts, the flashing light, 

Unusual horrors form ! 
Unhappy he, who nightly braves 
The fury of surrounding waves 

Amid this dreadful storm. 

And yet, though far remote from shore, 
Though loud the threatening tempest roar, 

And heave the yawning deep, 
Hope cheers each breast, that future winds, 
Shall waft them peaceful to their friends, 

To comfort those that weep. 

[Not so with me ! distrest, forlorn, 

Still doomed to weep from night to morn, 

My life a chain of woes. 
The past, regret — the present, care ; 
The future, black with grim despair, 

Till earth shall o'er me close. 

How happy they, who blest with health, 

And all the generous joys that wealth, 

Unstained with sadness, give ; 

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60 wilson's poems. 

Enjoy the bliss that hourly flows, 
Nor hear their hapless groans and woe3, 
Who struggle hard to live ! 

O thou kind Power, who hears my strain, 
To whom I silently complain, 

And lift my eyes in grief, 
'Tis thine to bid the tempest roll, 
Tis thine to heal the struggling soul, 

And bring the wretch relief. 

Thus sung Alexis, lost to mirth, 
While o'er the lonely, joyless hearth, 

His mournful visage hung. 
A silence reigned — when, soft and meek, 
He, listening, heard these accents break 

From an immortal tongue. 

" Why droops thy head, unhappy youth ? 
Be calm, and hear the words of truth, 

Nor righteous Heaven accuse. 
To man impartial gifts are given, 
Themselves alone make them uneven, 

By what their pride abuse. 

Thou strain' st at wealth — ah ! blind to fate, 
Thou seest not what distresses wait 

On him who claims the prize ; 
A snake it cankers in his breast, 
Distorts his looks, devours his rest, 

And lures him from the skies. 

On wealth proportioned cares attend, 
Who much commands, hath much to spend, 

Or are his treasures great ? 
Intemperance o'er them raves aloud, 
They vanish like a morning cloud, 

And leave their lord to fate. 

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wilson's poems. 61 

What though, by poverty deprest, 
Thou seeks a friend to soothe thy breast, 

But seeks, alas ! in vain : 
This bane becomes a bliss at last, 
For wisdom from the miseries past, 

Corrects the present pain. 
Look closer, mark each seeming ill 
That now with fear thy bosom fill, 

And weigh each envied joy : 
Health is a cheat, but sickness lights, 
Through hopes and fears to glorious heights, 

Where saints their songs employ. 
Health, rosy as the crimson dawn, 
Firm treads along the dewy lawn, 

O'er- wrapt with flowery joy : 
No ills shake his Herculean breast, 
Xo deep-stretched groans of pain distrest 

His pleasures e'er annoy. 
While thus despising other's woe, 
He courts each faithless shade below, 

And laughs at threatened hell. 
Pale Sickness lifts her languid eye 
From earth, and fixes in the sky, 

Where all her comforts dwell. 
But view health gone, the wretch low laid, 
By stern disease, past human aid 

Eacked on the hopeless couch : 
His heaving breast, with anguish tore, 
His eyes deep sunk — his bloom no more, 

And death in dread approach. 
Where now the boasted joys of earth ? 
Will these his riches, rank or birth, 

Calm the despairing soul ? 
Ah no, behold he groans, he cries : 
Tears choke his mingled moans and sighs ; 

And terrors round him roll. 



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62 Wilson's poems. 

Then, favoured youth, be thine the task, 
For real happiness to ask, 

From Nature's bounteous God ; 
Nor think on earth to grasp the prize, 
She dwells aloft, beyond the skies, 

Religion, is the road." 



Thy gloomy walks, O Death ! replete with fears, 
With 'scutcheons hung, and wet with widows' tears, 
The groans of anguish and of deep remorse, 
The gloomy coffin and extended cor'se, 
Be now my theme. — Hence, all ye idle dreams, 
Of flowery meadows and meand'ring streams, 
Or war's arousing roar — since none are brave 
Save those bold few who triumph o'er the grave. 
O thou, first Being ! Thou, almighty Power ! 
Who metes out life, a century or an hour ; 
At whose dread nod the spectre wields his dart, 
Uprears his arm, and stabs the quivering heart, 
Assist my feeble pen, (since I and all 
Must soon before that grisly monarch fall) 
To mark his frowns, but learn alone to dread 
That awful stroke that tends to death indeed. 

When God descended first to form our earth, 
And gave each plant and every creature birth, 
When trees arose at his supreme command, 
In order ranged, or scattered o'er the land ; 
Then the clear brook in murmuring measure flow'd, 
The zephyr whispered and the cattle lowed ; 
The voice of music warbled through each grove, 
From morn to morn, and every song was love. 
The lamb and tiger wantoned o'er the green, 
The stag and lion joined the mirthful scene ; 
The eagle thirsted not for streams of gore, 
And the swift hawk had ne'er the warbler tore ; 



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Wilson's poems. 63 

The meanest insect, starting from the ground, 
At pleasure sallied to its mazy round, 
Returned at night to its abode, a flower, 
Nor felt nor feared a mightier creature's power : 
For all was peace, and harmony, and love, 
Through the deep ocean and the tuneful grove. 
Such was the world, ere man its sovereign lord, 
Or beauteous woman paradise explored ; 
Ah ! hapless pair ! too soon they broke the bounds, 
They sinned — they fell — and felt sin's deadly wounds, 
Then rushed to being Death, and frowning dread 
Stalked o'er the world, and heapt his way with dead. 
The herbage withered, in the sun and shade ; 
Trees shook their leaves, and drooping flowers de- 
cayed ; 
Each creature felt his power ; and, while they pined, 
Groaned out their last to the loud howling wind. 
Yet still a following race did those succeed, 
And hoar Time glutted Death with piles of dead. 
Thus, for five thousand years, the world has rolled, 
Rocks now are mouldering, even the heavens grow 

old, 
And soon that day shall come when Time shall cease, 
And usher in eternal pain or peace. 
Yet how important is that awful day, 
That lays us breathless, pale, extended clay, 
When from our lips the ruddy glow shall fade, 
When the pulse ceases to emit its tide ; 
When sadly pondering o'er our lifeless cor'se, 
Our weeping friends regret Death's cruel force ; 
Then mounts the soul to God, and there receives 
Its fixed doom, and shouts for joy, or grieves ; 
Through all eternity prolongs the strain 
Of endless joy — or yells in endless pain. 

Death sometimes sends his cruel page, disease, 
To rob our nights of rest, our days of ease ; 



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b4 WILSON S POEMS. 

Unwelcome guest ! and yet he proves no foe, 
He weans our passions from the trash below ; 
Each pang of anguish urges to prepare, 
Ere death approach with stern relentless glare ; 
And, if unready, we are caught by Death, 
He throws us howling to the gulph beneath. 

With sudden steps sometimes the foe appears, 
And calls to judgment in our shuddering ears. 
We start alarmed — survey our guilty past ; 
Bend down to pray, and, bending, breathe our last. 
Then fled is fate, for as we fall we lie ; 
We sink in death, or sinking doubly die. 
Should these sad scenes not rouse us to concern, 
Our state to weigh, and danger to discern, 
Ere that dread period, when we leave this shore, 
And time and means are given us here no more. 
Death's stare may startle even the purest saint, 
And at the change his soul perhaps may faint ; 
But in that hour these cheering words he hears, 
And this sweet promise flows upon his ears, 
" I am thy friend, on me thy burden lay, 
And through death's vale I'll gently pave thy way." 
Thrice welcome words ! rejoiced, he spurns this 

earth, 
Where nought but sorrow reigns, and foolish mirth ; 
To life saints usher, when on earth they die, 
And when they leave us join the song on high. 

On Cartha's banks, beside a sloping dale, 
That gently opened to the western gale, 
In homely cot, of neat, inviting form, 
Nigh where old Cruickstone a braves the howling 

storm, 
Horatio lived — the generous and the kind, 
The villain's terror, but the poor man's friend ; 

a An old fortification near Paisley. 



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wilson's poems. 65 

Each neighbour's joy he shared, and adverse growl, 
For heaven-born Pity dwelt within his soul : 
Well knew the poor his house ; for from his door 
None e'er returned, but blest his bounteous store ; 
Their sad complaints he heard — sighed when they 

grieved ; 
And scarce he heard them till his hand relieved ; 
Beloved by all he lived, sedate, though gay ; 
Prayer closed his night and ushered in his day. 

But nought exempts from death : pale he was laid, 
His heaving breast by weeping friends surveyed, 
Beside his couch I sat — he, sighing, took 
My hand in his, then spoke with dying look; 
His trembling hand methinks I feel and spy, 
The drops that started in his swimming eye : 
" Farewell, my friend ! for now the time is come, 
That solemn points me to my silent tomb, 
Oh! were my life to spend, each breath I'd prize, 
For sins on sins now start before my eyes. 
Yet, he who is my hope — his cheering voice, 
Soft calls me hence, to share eternal joys — 
Oh ! seek his generous aid " — Here failed his breath, 
He sighed and slumbered in the arms of death. 
Such was his end, and such the bliss of those 
Who taste the stream that from Immanuel flows. 
This cheers the gloomy path, and opes the gate 
Where endless joys their glorious entrance wait, 
Through boundless heavens, amid his beams to rove, 
There swell the song of his redeeming love. 
What though misfortunes in this life abound ; 
Though ills on ills, and wants on wants surround ; 
Though all we hold most dear on earth are torn, 
Harsh from our grasp and to a distance borne ; 
Though friends forget us, though our enemies growl, 
And earth and hell affright the trembling soul : 
Lift up your heads ye poor ! the time draws nigh 
When all these miseries shall at distance fly ; 



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WILSON S POEMS. 



When songs of bliss shall be your blest employ, 
Your highest glory, your eternal joy ; 
Triumphant treading an immortal shore, 
Where sin and sorrow shall assault no more. 



WITH A SATIRICAL POEM. 

When curst Oppression rears his brazen crest, 
Withholds one half, and strains to seize the rest ; 
When those in power, disdaining shame or dread, 
Half starve those wretches they pretend to feed ; 
Then should the Muse, with honest zeal inspired, 
With hate of guilt and vile injustice fired, 
Disclose their crimes, and to the world display 
The gloomy catalogue in deep array ; 
Till Vice confounded hides her haggard head, 
And lovely Virtue rises in her stead. 

Eeceive the enclosed, nor blame the daring strains, 
Since truth confirms each period it contains ; 
And poor Experience, from the listening throng, 
Sad shakes her head, and owns the honest song. 

Hard is their fate who must on knaves depend ; 
Erom whose base grip no laws can e'er defend : 
Plead we for justice, then their friendship's o'er, 
And, as we're honest, we're employed no more. 
Ah ! were we blest now with a noble few, 
As just, kind, generous, and humane as you, 
Our trade might then maintain its former blaze, 
And Envy's self be dumb, or whisper praise. 

Sweet is the joy, the bliss that toils afford, 
When love unites the servant and his lord ; 
One common interest then the task appears, 
And smiles and looks the longest labour cheers. 



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wilson's poems. 67 

Cheats may deceive and growling tyrants swear, 
Those claim our scorn and these provoke our fear ; 
But they who rise superior to such arts, 
Possess like you our friendship and our hearts. 



A TALE. 

Dark hangs the drowsy murm'ring moonless night, 
Clouds wrap each twinklet from the useless sight ; 
Housed is each swain, worn with the day's long toil, 
Wielding the flail or turning o'er the soil ; 
Lone now the fields, the banks, the meadows all, 
Save where frogs croak or noisome lizards crawl. 

Seen from the hill, Edina's turrets glow 
With beaming lamps in many a glittering row, 
That glad the sight, while slow approaching near, 
Mixt sounds and voices crowd upon the ear ; 
Hoarse pie-men bawl, and shake the ceaseless bell, 
Boys sport, dogs bark, and oyster wenches yell. 
See yon black form placed at the well-worn porch, 
One arm sustains a tarry flaming torch ; 
With echoing voice and grim distorted looks, 
He hoarsely roars, " An auction here of books." 
The trotting chairman and the thund'ring coach, 
The blazing windows and sly wh — 's approach, 
The justling passengers that swarm each lane, 
Form to a stranger a surprising scene. 
'Twas at this time with keen tooth'd hunger pin'd, 
Plain Ralph the pedlar, wandered in a wynd. 
This Ralph, 'tis storied, bore a curious pack, 
With trinkets filled, and had a ready knack 
At coining rhyme ; o'er all the eastern plain 
Well was he known to every village swain. 
Where'er he lodged, on mountain, moor, or dale, 
The cottage filled to hear his wondrous tale. 

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68 wilson's poems. 

Oft at the barn they'd list, and hear poor Ealph, 
In uncouth phrases talking to himself; 
Or mark him wand'ring lone, 'twixt late and soon, 
With mutt 'ring voice, wild gazing to the moon. 
Drawn by the sight of certain skinny food, 
He sallied down and often gazing stood ; 
And such blest visions here he did descry, 
^That Want sat gnawing in his restless eye. 
Here tripe lay smoking on the loaded board, 
Piled high and thick, a most delicious hoard ; 
The fragrant stream in wavy columns rose, 
And fed incessant his enraptured nose. 
No longer fit to bear the glorious sight, 
He buys, then scampers with exulting flight, 
Resolved that night to soar his rank above, 
Gape o'er his spoil, and feast with nectared Jove. 

Here let us leave him, while with soaring flight, 
We gain Olympus and the plains of light : 
There, for his sons, see great Apollo's care, 
How low their station or how poor soe'er, 
Alike to him's the pedlar and the peer. 

High on a throne of burnished gold, in state 
And awful pomp the mighty Thund'rer sat. 
His flowing robe in dazzling glory shone, 
Inferior gods hung hov'ring round his throne ; 
With rapt'rous songs the heavens resounding rung, 
Sweet Echo warbling while the seraphs sung. 
When, lo ! approaching with green laurelled brows, 
Before the throne divine Apollo bows, 
An anxious look his glorious face oppressed, 
While bending low, he thus the god addressed : 
" Almighty potentate ! all conquering Jove ! 
Whoform'd these heav'ns that boundless spread above 
Yon distant earth, and all these worlds that roll 
In circling dance, whose nod sustains the whole, 



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wilson's poems. 69 

Whose powerful arm swift hurls the tempest forth, 
Whose frown strikes terror through the astonished 

earth, 
Bids yon vast sea in swelling mountains rise, 
And uproar horrid, foaming to the skies, 
Then smiles, and smooth the glassy surface lies. 

" Oft hast thou lent me a propitious ear, 
And made my sons thy most peculiar care. 
By thee inspired, they soar beyond the sun, 
And sing the wonders that thy arm hath done. 
Now stoop in pity to the dang'rous state 
Of one poor bard, born to a hapless fate. 
Thou knows his danger : see how swift he flies, 
Nor know'st the snare that for his ruin lies. 
Soon will he reach his home ; and, sad to tell, 
Glut the vile tripe and revel o'er the smell : 
But still there's time, still we may him retard, 
Here stand I ready to obey thy word." 
Jove gave consent ; when down the empyrean height, 
The cheerful god directs his rapid flight ; 
Swift passed the stars, heaven's regions he forsook, 
Light flew behind, and darkness he o'ertook. 
The num'rous lamps Edina's streets that line, 
He first espies in sparkling squadrons shine. 
A moment, dubious, o'er the scene he stops, 

Then swift, unseen, in B 's closs he drops, 

Assumes a porter's shape, conceals his wings, 
And through the closs in hurrying fury springs ; 
Down hurls poor Kalph, crash went the shivered bowl, 
And greasy streams along the pavement roll. 
As when some tiger, to his haunt from day, 
Returns, blood- foaming, with the slaughtered prey, 
Grim pleased that there, with undisturbed roar, 
He'll glut and revel o'er the reeking gore, 
Glares in wild fury o'er the gloomy waste, 
Now growls terrific o'er its mangled breast ; 

E 4 



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70 wilson's poems. 

Now drags, relentless, down the rugged vale, 

And stains the forest with a bloody trail : 

When, lo ! a champion of the savage race, 

The shaggy lion, rushes to the place, 

With roar tremendous seizes on the prey, 

Exasp'rate see ! the tiger springs away, 

Stops short, and maddens at the monarch's growl, 

And through his eyes darts all his furious soul, 

H If- willed, yet half afraid to dare a bound, 

He eyes his loss, and roars and tears the ground. 

So looked stern Ralphus o'er the flowing coast, 

To see his hopes, his tripe and labour lost. 

In rage he kicked the fragments, when, behold ! 

Forth from the tripe a monstrous worm unrolled 

Its lazy length, then snarling wild its crest, 

In accents shrill the shudd'ring youth addrest. 

" I am Disease ; cursed be the unknown he 

Who marked my purpose of destroying thee. 

Had it succeeded, hear this, trembling hear, 

Next morn had seen thee floating on a bier." 

It spoke, and grinned, when Ralph, with vengeful 

speed, 
A rock's huge fragment dashed down on its head. 
Deep groaned the wretch in death, Ealph trembling 

stole 
One backward glance, then fled th' accursed bowl. 



Now day departing in the west, 

With gaudy splendour lures the eye ; 

The sun, declining, sinks to rest, 
And evening overshades the sky. 

And is the green extended lawn, 

The waving grove — the flowery mead, 

The charms of hill and dale withdrawn, 
And all their blooming beauties hid ? 

@= ============ ==© 



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WILSON S POE3IS. 

They are — but lift aloft thine eye, 
Where all these sparkling glories roll ; 

Those mighty wonders of the sky, 
That glad and elevate the sonl. 

Day's undisguised effulgent blaze 
Adorns the mead or mountain blue ; 

But Night amid her train displays 
Whole worlds revolving to the view. 

Lone Contemplation musing deep, 
This vast stupendous vault explores ; 

These rolling orbs — the roads they keep, 
And Mght's great Architect adores. 

Nor mourns the absent glare of day, 
The glitt'ring mead or warbler's song ; 

For what are birds or meadows gay, 
To all that dazzling starry throng. 

So when the saint's calm eve draws nigh, 
With joy the voice of death he hears ; 

Heaven opes upon his wond'ring eye, 
And earth's poor vision disappears. 



Xoc&tofmtw&i a ffl to iPom* 

I>- A LETTER TO A FRIEND. 

When in the western main our orb of light, 
Sinks slowly down from the advancing night, 
Mute Sadness hangs o'er all the lonely earth, 
Old gloomy Night leads all her horrors forth ; 
Wild howls the dreary waste, where furies roam, 
Harsh hated shrieks start from the ruined dome ; 
Dread Darkness reigns in melancholy state, 
And pensive Nature seems to mourn her fate. 



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72 Wilson's poems. 

Such was the gloom, dear sir, that wrapt my soul, 

Such were the thoughts, and such the sighs that stole 

From this poor hosom, when, with tearful view, 

I bade Edina and my friend adieu ; 

Bade him adieu, whose kind engaging art, 

Unbounded goodness and inspiring heart, 

Has cheered my Muse, and bid her joyous soar, 

While Want and Euin thundered at the door. 

Long was the way, the weary way to tread, 
Stern Fortune frowned, and ev'ry hope had fled ; 
How rushed reflection on my tortured mind, 
As slow I went, and sighing gazed behind. 
Our rural walks, while the gray eastern morn, 
Yet faintly breaking, decked the dewy thorn ; 
Or when linked arm in arm, we peaceful strayed 
The meadows round : beneath yon leafy shade 
There oft the Muse pursued her soaring flight, 
While day was sunk, and reigned the starry night. 
Farewell, I cried ; a long farewell to you ; 
Fate cruel urges, happy scenes adieu. 

But blest be heaven ! when two sad days were past, 
I reached my peaceful native plains at last ; 
Sweet smiled the Muse to hear the rustics sing, 
And fond to rise, she stretched her ample wing. 
On ev'ry side the blooming landscape glow'd; 
Here shepherds whistled, there the cascade flowed. 
Heav'ns ! had I known what gay, delightful scenes, 
Of woods and groves adorned these happy plains, 
Edina's crowds and sooty turrets high, 
Should ne'er have cost me one regretting sigh. 

Though fair sweet Fortha's banks, though rich her 
plains, 
Far nobler prospects claim the Muse's strains. 
Fate now has led me to green-waving groves, 
Blest scenes of innocence and rural loves ; 



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Wilson's poems. 73 

Where cloudy smoke ne'er darkens up the sky, 
Nor glaring buildings tire the sick'ning eye ; 
But spreading meadows wave with flow'ry hay, 
And, drowned in grass the milky mothers stray ; 
While down each vale descends the glitt'ring rill, 
And bleating flocks swarm o'er each smiling hill; 
And woody vales, where deep retired from sight, 
Lone rivers brawl o'er many a horrid height. 

If scenes like these can please your roving mind, 
Or lend one rapture to my dearest friend, 
All hail ! ye sacred Mne, assist my flight, 
To spread their beauties open to his sight. 

Low, at the foot of huge extended hills, 
Whose cloudy tops pour down unnumbered rills, 
And where loud Calder, rushing from the steep, 
Koars to the lake with hoarse resistless sweep, 
Lochwinnoch stands, stretched on a rising groun', 
In bulk a village, but in worth a town. 
Here lives your friend, amid as cheerful swains 
As e'er trod o'er the famed Arcadian plains, 
Far from the world retired, our only care 
In silken gauze to form the flow 'rets fair, 
To bid beneath our hands gay blossoms rise, 
In all the colours of the changing skies. 

Dispatched to foreign climes, our beauteous toil 
Adorn the fair of many a distant isle, 
Shield from the scorching heat or shiv'ring storm, 
And fairer deck out Nature's fairest form. 

Such our sweet toils, when Peace, with gladdening 
smile, 
Wraps in her wings our little busy isle ; 
But when, loud bellowing, furious from afar, 
Is heard the uproar of approaching War, 
Britannia rousing, when aspiring foes 
Call forth her vengeance and provoke her blows, 

F 



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74 wilson's poems. 

Then all the hero in their bosom burns ; 
Their country calls and Kage dull Pleasure spurns. 
Beneath the throng of many a glitt'ring spear, 
In marshalled lines the fearless youths appear, 
The drum resounds — they leave their native shore, 
On distant coasts to swell the battle's roar ; 
There quell the furious foe, or see their homes no 
more. 

But these are harsh extremes ; rough Labour now 
Bathes each firm youth, and hoary parent's brow ; 
Nought shows, but brisk activity around, 
The plough-boy's song, the tradesman's hamm'ring 

sound. 
See ! from yon vale, in huge enormous height, 
Glitt'ring with windows on the admiring sight, 
The fabric a swells — within, ten thousand ways 
Ingenious Burns his wondrous art displays : 
Wheels turning wheels in mystic throngs appear, 
To twist the thread, or tortured cotton tear, 
While toiling wenches' songs delight the list'ning ear. 

At little distance, bord'ring on the lake, 
Where blooming shrubs from golden branches shake 
Ambrosial sweets, 'midst shelt'ring coverts high, 
Fair Castle- Semple b glitters on the eye : 
As when bright Phoebus bursts some gloomy shroud, 
And glorious issues from the darksome cloud, 
Superbly enters on the empyrean blue, 
And shines, revealed, to the enraptured view ; 
So from the trees the beauteous structure opes, 
Sheltered with hills, and many a deep'ning copse. 
The wondering stranger stops to admire the scene; 
The dazzling mansion and the shaven green ; 

a A large cotton mill lately erected here. 
b The elegant country seat of the Hon. William M'Dowal, the 
Member of Parliament for Ayrshire. 



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WILSON S POEMS. 75 

The fir-topt mount, where browze the bounding deer, 
The lake adjoining, stretching smooth and clear; 
The long glass hot-house, basking in the rays, 
Where nameless blossoms swell beneath the blaze ; 
Where India's clime in full perfection glows, 
And fruits and flowers o'ercharge the bending boughs. 
These, and unnumbered beauties charm his sight, 
And oft he turns and gazes with delight. 

Ye lonely walks, now sinking from the sight, 
Now rising easy to the distant height, 
Where o'er my head the bending branches close, 
And hang a solemn gloom — sedate repose, 
Now generous opening, welcomes in the day, 
While o'er the road the shadowy branches play. 
Hail ! happy spots of quiet and of peace, 
Dear favourite scenes, where all my sorrows cease, 
Where calm Ketirement reigns in sober mood, 
Lulled by the songsters of the neighbouring wood. 

Here oft beneath the shade, I lonely stray, 
When morning opes, or evening shuts the day ; 
Or when, more black than night, Fate stern appears, 
With all his train of pale despairing fears. 
The winding walks, the solitary wood, 
The uncouth grotto, melancholy rude ; 
My refuge these the attending Muse to call, 
Or in Pope's lofty page to lose them all. 

But what, my friend, would all these scenes avail, 
The walks meandering, or the stretching dale, 
The wood-clad mountain, or the sounding streams, 
The harvest waving in the glowing beams ; 
What all the pomp of nature or of art, 
If Heaven had hardened the proud owner's heart ? 
And is it so, ye ask? Ah, no, my friend, 
Far other motives swell his generous mind. 
He lives, he reigns, beloved in every soul ; 
Our wants and hardships through his bosom roll. 



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Those he alleviates with a parent care, 

And these by him spread forth, disperse in air. 

When late pale Trade, wrapt up in yellow weeds, 
With languid looks, seemed to forsake our meads, 
When, for her sons, stern Paisley sole confined 
The web to finish, or the woof to wind, 
Through all the village desolation reigned, 
And deep distress each cheek with sorrow stained ; 
Oh ! may these eyes ne'er gaze on such a scene, 
Ne'er may I listen to such woes again. 
Here mourned a father for his labour gone, 
Surveyed his babes and heaved the bitter groan ; 
The weeping maid, tho' blest with blooming charms, 
Saw now her lover forced to quit her arms, 
While silence hung, and melancholy gloom, 
Through each lone shop, and o'er each useless loom. 

Our mis'ries reached his ear, his manly breast 
Felt for our woes, nor e'en the tear supprest. 
He bade us hope, nor were our hopes in vain ; 
Soon welcome news surprised each grateful swain. 
Hope smiled propitious — every shop resumed 
New heart and soul, though late to ruin doomed. 
The sounding shuttle sweeps from side to side, 
Swift o'er the beam the finished flow'rings glide ; 
Songs soothe our toil, and pour the grateful flame, 
And ev'ry tongue reveres the patriot's name. 

From scenes like these, let Pride disdainful turn, 
And Malice hiss, and squinting Envy burn ; 
Yet, when entombed, the worthy patriot lies, 
And his rapt soul has gained her native skies, 
Such deeds as these shall aggrandize his name, 
While they lie buried in eternal shame. 

From Clyde's fair river to the western shore, 
Where smoky Saltcoats braves the surge's roar, 
A range of hills extend, from whose each side, 
Unnumbered streams in headlong fury ride, 



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Aloft in air their big blue backs are lost, 
Their distant shadows blackening all the coast ; 
High o'er their proudest peaks oft hid in showers, 
The imperious Misty-Law a superior towers ; 
Spiry at top, o'erclad with purpling heath, 
Wide he looks round o'er Scotia's plains beneath. 
The Atlantic main that opens on the west, 
Spotted with isles that crowd its liquid breast ; 
Hills heaped on hills support the northern sky, 
Far to the east the Ochills hugely lie. 
How vast around the boundless prospect spreads, 
Blue rivers rolling through their winding beds ; 
Black waving woods, fields glowing on the eye, 
And hills whose summits hide them in the sky. 
Still farther would I gaze with rapture blest, 
But bending clouds hang down and hide the rest. 

Descending from the hill's o'erhangiag head, 
Bare moors below uncomfortably spread. 
Here stray the hardy sheep in scattered flocks, 
Nibbling through furze and grim projecting rocks, 
Strangers to shelter from bleak Winter's form, 
His loudest blasts they brave and bitterest storm, 
By human hands untouched save when the swain, 
Drives to the crowded hut the bleeting train; 
Shears off the matted fleece with gleeful haste, 
And sends them naked to the lonely waste. 

Here as the shepherd ranges o'er the heath, 
The speckled adder sweeps across the path, 
Or lies collected in the sun's bright beams, 
Or wriggles forward to the distant streams ; 
But sudden caught in vain the felon flies, 
He feels the scourging crook and stretched and gaping 
dies. 

a A high mountain of that name, situated within a few miles 
of Lochwinnoch, commanding a beautiful and extensive view of 
the surrounding country. 

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78 wilson's poems. 

Near the bleak border of these lonely moors, 
Where o'er the brook the mossy margin lowers, 
'Midst clust'ring trees and sweet surrounding dells. 
In rural cot a rustic poet dwells ; 
Unknown to him the dull elab'rate rules, 
And mazy doctrines of pedantic schools : 
Yet genius warms his breast with noble fire, 
And the rapt Muse seems eager to inspire. 
High on the herby hill while morning smiles, 
And shoots her beams along the distant isles, 
Cheerful he sits, and gazing o'er the plain, 
In native language pours his jocund strain ; 
" How bonny morning speels the eastlin lift, 
And waukens lads and lasses to their thrift, 
Gars lavrocks sing and canty lamies loup, 
And me mysel' croon cheery on my doup ;'* 
Or oft rejoiced he sings how best to rear 
Big swelling roots, the peasant's homely cheer, 
When drowned with milk amid the pot they're prest, 
Or mealy, bursting fill his brawny fist ; 
How the deep bog or wat'ry marsh to drain, 
And bid bare hillocks groan with bending grain. a 
These are the themes that oft engage his Muse, 
Swell his full breast and stretch his wid'ning views ; 
While wond 'ring shepherds as they round him throng, 
Survey the hoary bard and bless the instructing song. 

When harvest's o'er, his last, his sweetest toil, 
And every barn contains the rustling spoil ; 
When winter growls along the frozen lakes, 
And whit'ning snows descend in silent flakes ; 
When all without is drear, and keen blown frost 
Has each hard foot- step on the road embost, 
Led by the pale-faced moon o'er drifted plains, 
From many a cottage trudge the neighb'ring swains, 

a Alluding to his speech on farming. — Vide Semple's History 
of Renfrewshire, p. 11G. 



wilson's poems. 79 

To hear his tale, and round his glowing hearth, 
To pass the night in innocence and mirth. 

Retired from towns, from scenes of guilt and strife, 
How blest poor shepherd's your untroubled life ! 
No deep black schemes employ your jocund hour, 
Like birds of prey each other to devour. 
The milky flocks throng nibbling o'er the steep, 
The tinkling brooks that sweetly lull to sleep. 
The warbling bank, the dewy morn's pale light, 
While mists rise slowly from each neighb'ring height, 
The lark's shrill song, the blackbird's wilder airs, 
These are your pleasures, these your happy cares. 

Down from this spreading moor with gathering 
force, 
Impetuous Calder leaves his marshy source, 
Through deep sunk vales and rude resisting rocks, 
His furious current raves and thundering smokes, 
While swift he pours along in foamy pride, 
Huge massive bulwarks rise on either side ; 
Rocks grimly lowering o'er the darkened stream, 
Hollow'd with caves where ne'er peep 'd Phoebus' beam . 
Here in red clusters hang the juicy row'n ; 
There sun-burnt nuts depress the hazel down ; 
High on yon rock the lucious berries swarm, 
Yet mock the efforts of the straining arm ; 
So when some poet wand'ring through the street, 
If chance a sav'ry smell his nostrils meet, 
Sudden he stops — looks round on some cook's stall, 
And eager gazes — but a look's his all. 

Wild scenes, my friend, now rush upon my sight, 
Of woods hung branching from the impending height ; 
Of rude romantic cliffs, where high in air, 
The fleet winged hawk protects her clam'rous care ; 
Of Calder winding through the deep sunk vale, 
'Midst trees embosomed from the ruffing gale, 

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Impatient now through opening banks to roam, 
Now rushing o'er the rock a stream of foam ; 
Now stealing deep, where stretched from side to side, 
The bellying arch a reclined arrests the tide, 
While down the dizzy brink resistless fleet, 
The river rolls in one wide glittering sheet. 

Adjoining this, 'midst bordering reeds and fens, 
The lengthened lake its glossy flood extends, 
Slow stealing on with lazy silent pace, 
The Peel b lone rising from its wat'ry face. 
Here stalks the heron gazing in the lake, 
The snowy swan and party-coloured drake ; 
The bittern lone that shakes the solid ground, 
While thro' still midnight groans the hollow sound ; 
The noisy goose, the teal in black'ning trains, 
And long-bill'd snipe that knows approaching rains ; 
Wild fowl unnumbered here continual rove, 
Explore the deep or sail the waves above. 

When harvest loads the fields with shocks of grain, 
And heaps of hay bestud the marshy plain, 
Then have I seen the clouds tumultuous rise, 
Huge from the south grim dark'ning all the skies. 
Then howled the blust'ring wind, the lashing rain 
In streaming torrents poured along the plain, 
Down from the steep, swelled brown from shore to 

shore, 
O'er rocks enormous with rethund'ring roar 
Hoarse Calder dashed — the lake a sea appears, 
And down at once the bord'ring harvest bears ; 
Wheat, hay, and oats float o'er the boiling tide, 
And lost for ever down the current ride. 
Plunged to the middle in the swelling waves, 
See swains half-drowned, drag out the dripping 
sheaves ; 

a A high dam erected for raising the water to the cotton mill. 
t> The ruins of an old fortress. 



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wilson's poems. 81 

While on the brink the farmer stands forlorn, 
And takes his last sad look of the departing corn. 

But hark ! fierce Boreas blows keen from the hills, 
The frost severe enchains the trickling rills ; 
Wide o'er the lake a glossy pavement spreads, 
Snow robes the fields and heaps the mountain's heads ; 
Scarce o'er yon southern hill the sun appears, 
Feeble his rays, far from our sight he wears. 
How chill the air ! how vehement the storm ! 
Bleak Winter growls and shakes his hoary form. 

Seasons like these ne'er damp the glowing veins 
Of rugged Scotia's hardy native swains ; 
Forth to the ice our little village pours, 
In healthy sports to pass the shiv'ring hours. 
On fleeting skates some skim its glitt'ring face, 
In swift excursion or meand'ring chase ; 
While in black crowds the curlers throng around, 
Men, stones, and besoms, thund'ring up the sound. 

Nor is our pleasure less when Spring appears, 
And Sol again the changing landscape cheers : 
With pausing step to trace the murm'ring brook, 
And o'er the stream display the purling hook ; 
While from each bush the feathered warblers rove, 
And soothe the soul to sacred peace and love. 
Or as at sober silent eve we walk 
With the sweet fair, engaged in harmless talk, 
The raptured heart enjoys a conscious glow, 
Which care can't damp or gaudy wealth bestow. 

Farewell, my friend ! for me no more repine ; 
Peaceful I live, ah ! were my bliss but thine, 
Through these wild banks together could we stray, 
Or range the wood to shun the sultry day, 
Nor care nor pain could then my peace destroy, 
And thy dear Muse would double ev'ry joy : 

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But since we're doomed far severed to remain, 
Since murm'ring swells, but never soothes our pain ; 
Hence ! ye vain wishes — Friendship, heavenly glow, 
Best, choicest bliss bestowed on man below, 
Shall reign united with triumphant pride, 
Though kingdoms, seas, and half the world divide. 



ON HER INSISTING TO KNOW WHO WAS THE SUBJECT OF A 
CERTAIN PANEGYRIC. 

Beauteous maid ! no more enquire on 
Who thus warms my raptured strain ; 

Here I'll strive to paint the fair one, 
Though, alas ! I strive in vain. 

Tall and graceful is her stature ; 

Loose and dazzling is her dress ; 
Cupids sport in every feature, 

And in every jet black tress. 
Mild she's as the dewy morning, 

When exulting warblers sing ; 
As the summer beams adorning, 

Modest as the blushing spring. 

She talks — my soul is held in capture ; 

When she smiles 'tis matchless bliss ; 
She sings — and, oh ! I'm all in rapture ; 

Gods ! was ever joy like this ? 
Were my treasures high as heaven, 

Vast as earth and deep as hell ; 
Bichest gems from India riven, 

All I'd give with her to dwell. 
Would you wish to see this Venus, 

This most sweet of all that's fair ? 
Ne'er with guesses rack your genius ; 

Look your glass — you'll see her there. 



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AN EXPOSTULATORY ADDRESS 



Haggard harlot ! why^thus dare 
To wage with me eternal war, 
Shall I bear it ? no, thou strumpet ! 
Here I swear in voice like trumpet, 
Soon's thou shows thy visage elf, 
Meet thy fate and blame thyself. 
Did I e'er invite or wrong thee ? 
Did I vow e'er to belong t' thee ? 
Do I welcome ? do I nurse thee ? 
No, thou liest — I hate, I curse thee ; 
Why then, black presumptuous ghost, 
Why thus stern invade my coast ? 
Soon thou throws but shadows o'er them, 
Fly'st thyself, and all adore them. 
Why thus partial ? If the Muse 
Deign at times to bless my brows, 
I lift the pen — prepare for study, 
There thou stares, grim, ghastly, duddy ; 
Shakes thy rags — begins thy grieving, 
Terrifies the Muse to heaven ; 
Then displays my pockets empty, 
Belly worse, and all to tempt me. 
Humour, rhyming, headlong scampers — 
Rotten stockings, soleless trampers — 
Nameless torments — crowds of evils 
Grin around like real devils. 

So disfigured with thy scoffing, 
Need I wonder why so often 
Friends go past, nae answer gi'e me, 
Look their watch and never see me. 



Beside a warbling flowery grove, 
By contemplation led, or love, 



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Lone in the summer noon-tide ray, 
Young beauteous Jeanie basking lay. 
Her cheeks outvied the rose's bloom, 
Her lips the cherry — breath, perfume ; 
In silk apparel loose arrayed, 
She beauty's every charm displayed. 

As thus the sultry hour she spent, 
With Phoebus' beams unnerved and faint, 
Dull Morpheus silently did creep, 
And ere she knew lulled her asleep. 

A roving wasp, pert, gaudy squire. 
Struck with the fragrance of the air, 
In raptured hurry, on her lip 
The fancied rose-bud dew to sip, 
Soft perch'd — and, ah ! what bliss he drew, 
Ne'er wasp sucked such mellifluous dew. 
With joy his little bag he stored, 
And every glittering creek explored : 
But, cruel fate ! the waking maid, 
Unknowing, snapt his hapless head 
With deadly crash — " Kevenge," he cried, 
Then deeply stung, and quivering, died. 
Alarmed, she started with a bound, 
And shook her robes — but, ah ! the wound 
Deep-rooted, galled with aching smart, 
And pining pierced her to the heart. 
She trembled, wept, but wept in vain ; 
Huge rose her lip — extreme the pain ; 
Till o'er her chin, with venom stung, 
A monstrous sight it glistering hung. 

'Twas then gay, beauteous Jean no more, 
Unfit to speak, she shrieked, she tore 
Her fluttering dress, and inward vowed, 
If e'er her lip could be renewed, 
No careless hour should see her laid, 
Inglorious in the sun or shade. 

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Wilson's poe3is. 85 

Ye flustering beaux, and every rake 

That read or list around, 
By this wasp's fate example take, 

Nor lag on unknown ground : 
Else ye may come to mourn too late, 

And stretch your mouths and roar, 
And curse your bitter pining fate 

When ye can sting no more. 



A TALE. 

Auld Eppie was a thrifty wife, 
And she had spun maist a' her life, 
Eor threescore year rowed in her cloak, 
She sat, and rugged at the rock. 

As Eppie' s life had lang been single, 
She whiles span by a neighbour's ingle, 
And when the sun slade out o' sight, 
She daundered hamewards ower the height, 
Lamenting aft, that poortith caul', 
For her to spin wha scarce could crawl. 

As Eppie wi' her wheel gaed hame, 
Toome hunger cracking in her wame, 
Made her regret wi' mony a grane, 
That she sae far a-fleld had gaen ; 
The wind whiles whirling round the rock, 
Aft lent her on the lug a stroke ; 
Right cankry to hersel' she cracket, 
" That wheel o' mine — the devil take it — " 
Nae sooner had she said the word 
Than Clootie, shapet like a burd, 
Flew down, as big's a twomont ca', 
And clinket Eppie's wheel awa\ 

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Half dead wi' fright, up to the lift 

She glowred, and saw him spur like drift, 

As fast as ony bleeze o' pouther, 

Out through the cluds wi't ower his shouther. 

"Aye, aye," quoth Epps, " and so it's you, 
Ye auld confounded thief-like sow ! 
Nae doubt ye're keen to try your hand 
Amang your hairy, blackguard band ? 
Ye maybe think that spinning's naething ! 
And that it wastes na sap nor breathing ? 
Ye're new-fangled now, but wait a wee 
Till ance ye've spun as lang as me, 
I'll wad a dollar, Mr. Deil, 
Ye'll gladly gie me back my wheel." 

Cloots heard, and though he was the devil, 
For ance he acted vera civil, 
For, laughing at poor Eppie's crack, 
He threw the wheel down on her back. 

When ill luck comes, be't mair or less, 
It's aye best then to acquiesce, 
And rather laugh, though gear sud lea' us, 
Than whinge whene'er it's harl't frae us. 
This taks the stang frae ilka cross, 
And gars us rise aboon the loss ; 
Gars fortune whiles gie owre to hiss us, 
And, smiling, turn about and bless us. 



WITH PINDAR'S POEMS. a 

With wond'rous delight I've now pored o'er tbe 

pages, 

Your goodness was pleased to remit me a while ; 

a These Poems, well known in the literary world, were sent 
to the author by a friend, with this sincere and warm recommen- 
dation of being the most chaste and delicate productions he had 
ever met with. Some of the pieces, however, appearing scarce 
worthy of such a character, occasioned the above epistle. 



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Wilson's poems. 87 

Which, though they have seen near a couple of ages, 
Still flow in a simple smooth beauty of style. 

Wit here and there flashes, the reader alarming, 
And humour oft bends the pleased face to smile ; 

How sweetly he sings of his Chloe so charming ; 
How lofty of William's dread conquests and spoil. 

And, oh ! how the heart with soft passion is moved, 

While Emma pours out her fond bosom in song ; 
In tears I exclaim, Heav'ns ! how the maid loved, 

But ah ! 'twas too cruel to try her so long. 
But quickly young Laughter extirpates my mourning, 

To hear the poor doctor haranguing his wife, 
Who stretched upon bed, lies tumultuously turning, 

And pants to engage in sweet Yenus's strife. 

In short, my good friend, I esteem him a poet, 

Whose mem'ry will live while the luscious can 
charm ; 
And Rochester sure had desisted to show it, 

If conscious that Pindar so keenly could warm. 
So nicely he paints it, he words it so modest, 

So swiftly he varies his flight in each line ; 
Now soaring on high, in expressions the oddest, 

Now sinking, and deigning to grovel with swine. 

The Ladle, O raptures ! what bard can exceed it ? 

" His modesty, sir, I admire him for that" — 
Hans Carvel mcst gloriously ends when you read it, 

But Paulo Purganti — how flaming ! how fat ! 
Ten thousand kind thanks I return for your bounty ; 

Por troth I'm transported whenever I think 
How Eame will proclaim me aloud through each 
county, 

Por singing like Pindar of ladles and st — k. 



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Now day's bright orb has left our lonely sphere, 
No more the flocks, no more the flowers appear ; 
But still and slow descend the balmy dew, 
And earth's dark surface with their moisture strew. 
Night comes apace, faint gleams the western day, 
Hoarse screams the corn-craik from the dewy hay ; 
Crawled from yon ruins, where she shuns the light, 
The flutt'ring bat begins her mazy flight. 
All aether's hushed, no other sound I hear, 
Save some lone stream slow murm'ring on my ear. 
But, see ! the moon, deep-flushed with paler light, 
Of clouds disrobed, dispels the pitchy night, 
With rising splendour brightens to the view, 
Gay, rolling onward through the Olympian blue ; 
The stars surrounding, sparkle on the eye, 
And Night in solemn pomp o'erspreads the sky, 
My heart exults at such a scene as this, 
And feels emotions words can ne'er express. 



Whoe'er offends at some unlucky time, 
Slides into verse, and hitches in a rhyme ; 
Sacred to ridicule, his whole life long, 
And the sad burden of some merry song. 

Pope. 

Austerio, an insipid senseless old wretch, 

Who all the whole morn in his bed lies a snoring, 

By cheating and lying has made himself rich, 

And spends the whole night o'er his papers a poring. 

He tosses, he tumbles, and rolls in his bed, 

Like a swine in her sty, or a door on its hinges ; 

When his landlady calls him, he lifts up his head, 
D — ns her haste — rubs his eyes, and most lazily 
whinges. 



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WILSON S POEMS. by 

Then groans out, "Bring here my warmed breeches 

and shirts," 

And launches one dirty bare leg from the sheeting ; 

Cleans his jaws from a deluge of ugly brown squirts ; 

Draws a chair, and prepares, gracious heaven! 

for eating. 

All day with a fist in each pocket he walks, 

With the air of a goose, from one shop to another ; 

Of caption and horning eternally talks, 
For he'd d — n to a jail and starvation his brother. 

Some folk, ere they swear to the value or price, 

Consult with their conscience, lest they prove un- 
civil ; 
But , when he sells, (for he ne'er was too nice) 

Confers with his rev 'rend old partner — the devil. 
If Horns with a grin, whisper into his ear, 

"My boy, raise thy arm, or by Jove, they'll us 
cozen ; 
By the heavens, or earth, or by any thing swear" — 

He'll swear oath on oath for a sixpence a dozen. 



ON HIS RETURN FROM PARLIAMENT, JULY, 1791. 

Welcome once more, from scenes of pomp and noise, 
To rural peace and undisturbed joys : 
Welcome ! the blessings of the poor to share, 
That smiles and tears of gratitude declare. 
Smiles, from the soul that undissembled dart, 
And tears warm streaming from th' o'erfiowing heart. 

Blest be that arm ! when Famine from his den, 
Led on by fools and deep-designing men, 

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90 wilson's poems. 

Advanced, grim threatening, to deform those plains, 
Where wealth and peace and boundless commerce 

reigns, 
Blest be the arm that scourged him from our shore, 
And bade our hopes to blossom as before. 

The warrior sheathed in steel and drenched in 
blood, 
May scatter death where towns and hamlets stood, 
May see around the flaming horrors rise, 
And hear, well pleased, expiring wretches' cries ; 
These to his savage bosom may convey 
A short-lived joy that darkens with the day ; 
But he, whose gracious and assisting hand 
Spreads wealth and pleasure o'er a smiling land ; 
Bids cities rise, internal troubles cease, 
And pours the balm of liberty and peace. 
To him the peasant, whistling o'er the soil, 
The yellow fields, the reapers' rustling toil, 
The noisy bustling town, the crowded port, 
Where mingling nations with their stores resort. 
These to his heart a tide of rapture roll, 
That warms, sublimes, and dignifies the soul. 

To you, M'Dowal, whose unbounded heart 
Exults, to all, those blessings to impart ; 
To you each bosom heaves with grateful sighs, 
For you the warmest of our wishes rise ; 
That Heaven, indulgent, may for ever shed 
Health, peace and pleasure round your honoured head, 
Long, long to rise amid your humble swains, 
The hope, the guard, and glory of our plains. 



ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR OP THE SAILOR AND LOUSE. 

Hail ! thou whose great aspiring soul 
Can range no doubt from pole to pole, 
Creation's ample house, 



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Wilson's poems. 91 

Yet deigns to memorate the name, 
And roll in the records of fame, 
Thy bosom foe a — Louse. 

Transporting bard ! how didst thou light 
On such a tale to fire thy sight, 

Such beauties to express ? 
How couldst thou to our raptured view, 
Discover such a scene ? so new ! — 

Forgive me if I guess. 

Perhaps in some dark, dirty den, 

Long had'st thou pined and chewed thy pen, 

When, wond'rous inspiration ! 
The gray inhabitants of hair, 
That itched thee ceaseless here-and-there, 

Claimed all thy contemplation. 

Impatient to be found in verse, 

Around thy hulk, thick-thronged and fierce, 

The restless creatures hurried, 
Till thou for want of nobler theme, 
Was forced to immortalize their name, 

On pain of being worried. 



ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE SPANIEL, MALICIOUSLY 
POISONED. 

How soon are blessings snatched away ! 
Our friends around us smile to-day, 
But oft ere morning's early ray, 

Salute the shore ; 
We see them stretched, pale, lifeless clay, 

To please no more ! 
G 



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92 wilson's poems. 

Poor Cupid ! fondest friend I knew ; 
To me, how kind ! how matchless true I 
Whose frolics oft my laughter drew, 

Though grief deprest, 
By Death's envenomed steel pierced through, 
Has breathed his last. 

But had the traitor void of art, 
Produced the death denouncing dart, 
And calmly aimed it at his heart, 

Still panting warm ; 
One piteous look had staid the smart, 

And fixed his arm. 

Yet think not since his debt is paid, 
I mourn the dear departed shade ; 
No — 'neath yon apple-tree he's laid, 

To rise again ; 
Nor shall the youth or infant maid, 

Escape his pain. 

Each year when Spring her reign resumes, 
Then Cupid from his bed of glooms, 
Shall spread the scarlet-tinctured blooms, 

In glorious view, 
While bees amid the rich perfumes, 

Eove murm'ring through. 

When Autumn comes serene and slow, 
And ruddy berries clustering glow, 
When with ripe fruit the loadened bough, 

Bends to the swaird, 
Then Cupid swells the loveliest show, 

In Johnny's yard. 

And though in apples now he rise, 
Yet swift and keen his arrow flies; 

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wilson's poems. 93 

For soon as e'er your ravished eyes 

Gaze on his growth, 
The blushing cheek and wond'rous size, 

Would bless your mouth. 



Now little folded pregnant leaf, 
On thee for once my joy, my grief, 

My hopes and fears await ; 
Now shall misfortune cease to growl, 
Or black despair assault my soul, 

And fix my hapless fate. 
Oh ! may some angel, guardian aid ! 
In robes celestial, sweet arrayed, 

Unknown, unseen descend, 
And while thou opens on his eyes, 
Soft whisper the poor poet's sighs, 

And bid him be a friend. 
Then shall the Muse outstretch her wing, 
And fired with joy exulting sing 

The bounty of the giver ; 
Yet if stern Eortune so ordain, 
That all my fiatt'ring hopes are vain, 

Here, sorrow ! dwell for ever. 



<®n a SqparatrtJ 

Bokio lies beneath this table, 

Bacchus, view the sight and weep ; 
Spite of all thy art was able, 

Porter's lulled him fast asleep. 
Silent now the tongue of thunder, 

Dormant lies the arm of brass, 
Every sentence sunk our wonder, 

Every action crowned the ass. 



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Morpheus ! curse on thy intruding, 
Blest was he ere thou appeared ; 

Snuff in vain 'gainst thy deluding, 
All his fiery forces reared. 

See ! he wakes — his eye-lids glimmer — 
He struggles, faultering, to get free ; 

Ah ! he sinks — come, push the brimmer, 
Jolly god ! 'twixt thee and me. 



OCCASIONED BY SEEING TWO MEN SAWING TIMBER IN THE 
OPEN FIELD, IN DEFIANCE OF A FURIOUS STORM. 

My friends, for G-d sake ! quit your wark, 
Nor think to war a wind sae stark ; 
Your saw-pit stoops, like wan's, are shaking, 
The very planks and deals are quaking ; 
You're tempin' Providence, I swear, 
To raise your graith sae madly here. 
Now, now you're gone ! — Anither blast 
Like that, and a' yer sawing's past ! 
Come down, ye sinner ! — grip the saw 
Like death, or trouth, ye'll be awa'. 
Na, na, ye'll saw though hail and sleet 
Wreathe ower your breast, and freeze yer feet 
Hear how it roars, and rings the bells ; 
The carts are tum'ling round themsels ; 
The tile and thack, and turf up whirls ; 
See yon brick lum ! — down, down it hurls. — 
But wha's yon staggering ower the brae, 
Beneath a lade o' buttled strae ; 
Be wha he will, poor luckless b — h ! 
His strae and him's baith in the ditch. 

The sclates are hurling down in hun'res, 
The dading door and winnock thun'ers. — 



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wilson's poems. 95 

But, ho ! my hat, my hat's awa' ! 

L — d help's ! the saw-pit's down and a' ! 

Eax me your hand — hech ! how he granes, 

I fear your legs are broken banes. 

I tauld you this ; but deil-mak-matter, 

Ye thought it a' but idle clatter ; 

Now see, ye misbelieving sinners, 

Your bloody shins — your saw in ninners ; 

And roun' about your lugs the ruin, 

That your demented folly drew on. 

Experience ne'er sae sicker tells us, 
As when she lifts her rung and fells us. 






©5* IJfeteMWtolate HSBrat* 

Be not the Muse ashamed here to bemoan 

Her brothers of the grove. 

Thomson. 

The morn was keeking frae the east, 
The lav'rocks shrill, wi' dewy breast, 

Were tow'ring past my ken, 
Alang a burnie's flow'ry side, 
That gurgled on wi' glancin' glide, 

I gained a bushy glen ; 
The circling nets ilk spider weaves 

Bent wi' clear dew-drops hung, 
A' roun' amang the spreading leaves, 
The cheery natives sung ; 
On'ts journey, the burnie 

Fell dashing down some lins, 
"White foaming, and roaming, 
In rage amang the stanes. 

While on the gowany turf I sat, 
And viewed this blissfu' sylvan spat, 
Amid the joyous soun' ; 

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Some mournfu' chirps, methought of wae, 
Stole on my ear frae neath a brae ; 

Whare as I glinted down, 
I spied a bonny wee bit Wren, 

Lone on a fuggy stane : 
And aye she tore her breast, an' than, 
Poor thing, poured out her mane, 
Sae faintive, sae plaintive ; 

To hear her vent her strain, 
Distrest me and prest me 
To ken her cause o' pain. 

Down frae a hingan hazel root, 
Wi' easy wing, and sadly mute, 

A social Kobin came ; 
Upon a tremblin' twig he perched, 
While owre his head the craig was arched, 

Near hand the helpless dame ; 
Awee he. viewed her sad despair — 

Her bitter chirps of wae, 
Brought frae his e'e the pearly tear, 
Whilk owre his breast did gae ; 
Still eyeing and spying, 

JsTane near to gi'e relief; 
And drooping and stooping, 
He thus enquired her grief. 

" What dolefu' ill, alas ! what woe 
Gars thee sit mourning here below, 

And rive thy mirley breast ? 
Has ony whitret's direfu' jaws, 
Or greedy gled's fell squeezing claws, 

Made thy wee lord a feast ? 
Or has some callans frae the town, 

While roaring through the shaw, 
Thy wee things' nest and a' torn down, 

And borne them far awa ? 



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wilson's poems. 97 

My Wrannie, I canna 

Rest till thy waes thou tell ; 
For I yet may cry yet 

Wi' siccan grief mysel'." 

" Och, Rab ! my heart will brust in tvra — 
Alas ! I'm dizzy — O I'll fa' ! 

My legs, my heart will fail — 
But since ye speer sae kind, my frien', 
And love like yours is seldom seen, 

I'se tell the dreadful tale. 
Aneath yon hingin' brae, as best, 

Soon as the leaves came out, 
Ye ken we joyfu' bug our nest, 
And clos't it a' about. 
Fu' cleanly and beinly 

We lined it a' wi' down ; 
And neatly and quietly 

"We formed it snug and soun'. 

" The brae hung owre in bushy height, 
And hade it close frae ony's sight, 
That dauner't through the glen ; 
Nane e'er observed us jink within, 
Or ever there for nests did fin, 

'Twas sic a lanely den. 
And mony a day and night I sat, 

While my wee Tarn did sing, 
Till saxteen bonny things I gat, 
A notching 'neath each wing. 
What pleasure, this treasure 

Gied us. I needna' tell ; 
Sic pleasure, sic treasures, 
Ye've aft enjoyed yoursel'. 

" Soon as the gladsome morning rose, 
I left them rowed in warm repose, 
And through the warbling wood, 

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'Mang auld tree roots and prickly brier, 
My Tarn and me, without en fear, 

Roved for their wanted food ; 
And, oh ! what transports swelled my breast, 

At night, when I surveyed 
A' safe and weel about our nest, 
An' them quiet feath'ring laid !— - 
Och ! Robin — this sobbin 

Forgie, for to the scenes 
I draw now, that gnaw now, 
My heart wi' wringing pains. 

" This morn as soon as it grew light, 
Baith through the glen we took our flight, 

And soon my neb I filled ; 
Some dreadfu' hurling noise I heard, 
And pale forebodings made me feared, 

That a' my hopes were killed. 
I flighter't hame ; but och ! dread scene ! 

Whose horror crushed my breath : 
The brae had fa'n huge to the plain, 
And dashed them a' to death. 
Ye heavens, my grievings 

Ye might have ceased to flow, 
Me crashing and dashing 
With them to shades below. 

" Nae mair I'll through the valley flee, 
And gather worms wi' blissfu' glee, 

To feed my chirping young ; 
Nae mair wi' Tarn himsel' I'll rove, 
Nor shall e'er joy throughout the grove, 

Flow frae my wretched tongue ; 
But lanely, lanely aye I'll hap, 

'Mang auld stane-dykes and braes, 
Till some ane roar down on my tap, 

And end my joyless days." 

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So slowly and lowly 

Araise the hapless Wren, 
While crying and sighing, 

Remurmured through the glen. 



Tired wi' tramping moors and mosses, 
Speeling stairs, and lifting snecks, 

Daunering down through lanes and closses, 
Buskin' braw the bonny sex. 

Hame at e'ening, late I scuded, 

Whare Auld Reekie's turrets tower, 

Mirk the lift was drowsy eluded, 
And the starns begoud to glower ; 

In my nieve, my honest lucky, 
Soon's I reek't her ingle cheek, 

Ram't yer lines — as daft's a bucky 
Was I when I heard you speak. 

Ben the room I ran wi' hurry, 

Closed the door wi' unco glee, 
Read and leugh, maist like to worry, 

Till my pow grew haflins ree. 

Sonsy fa' your Muse my laddie ! 

She's a wench can mount fu' heigh, 
Though her phraizing, far owre gaudie, 

Gars me cock my tap fu' skeigh. 

Cartha's banks wi' flowerets hinging, 
Warbling birds, wi' towering wing ; 

Rocks and hills wi' music ringing, 
Weel I like to hear you sing. 



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100 Wilson's poems. 

These are scenes of health and quiet, 

Innocence and rural bliss ; 
Solitude, though others fly it, 

Towns to me are dull with this. 

Distant far frae ony living, 

Deep in lanely woodings lost, 
Oft my Muse, wi' ardour heaving, 

Sung her woes, by fortune crost. 

Stretched beside the bubbling burnie 

Aften musing wou'd I lie, 
While glad Phoebus, on his journey, 

Streamed wi' gowd the eastern sky. 

This, man, sets our brains a bizzing, 
This can soothe our sorrowing breasts, 

Want and Care set afward whizzing, 
'Till our jaded hobby reests. 

While ye spoke of notes enchanting, 

Dying o'er the distant plain ! 
All my soul, tumultuous panting, 

Sprung to meet the friendly swain. 

Oh ! prolong the sweet description, 

Bid the Muse new-prune her wing , 
Sylvan gods shall at thy diction, 

Dance around in airy ring. 

Shall the youth whose pow'rs surprising, 

Melt our souls to sweet delight, 
All the soul of song arising 

Through the silent list'ning night : 

Shall he doomed to dark oblivion, 

Languish lost to joy or fame, 
Not a swain to soothe his grieving, 

Not a Muse to sing his name. 



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wilson's poe3is, ]01 



Gods forbid ! for yet he'll blossom, 
In thy verses now he lives ; 

Gladly could I paint his bosom, 
Generous as the song he gives. 

But the cluds are black'ning dreary, 
Night is drawing owre her screen ; 

Bodies hame are daunering weary, 
Dews are dribbling owre the green. 

Trust me, though closed in a cellar, 
Wantin' huggars, breeks, or sark, 

Prest wi' debt, or blest wi' siller, 
I'm a frien' to An'rew Clark. 



A TRUE STORY. 

Short is the far'est folk can see, 
Yet unco wary we should be, 

To leuk before we loup ; 
Nor e'er, in huth'ron haste advance, 
Or we'll rin mony a narrow chance, 

In black mistaks to coup. 

Ae calm, blae bitter frosty day, 

When deep the glisterin' snaw-wreathes lay, 

Aboon ilk moor and fieF, 
And owre the loch's clear frozen face, 
On skytchers thrang, in airy chase, 

Elew mony a cheery chiel. 

Far aff the curler's roaring rink, 
Ke-echoed loud, wi' noisy clink, 

O' stanes and besoms rappin' ; 
Doos flighter't through amang the stacks, 
And craws upon the toll-road tracts, 

In hungry mood were happin'. 



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102 wilson's poems. 

Sic was the day, whan san'-blin' Kab, 
Armed wi' a gun like ony stab, 

And poeks o' lead and pouther, 
Set out in eager search for game, 
Eesolved to bring a maukin hame, 

In triumph owre his shouther. 

ISTae sniftering' dog had he, I wat, 
To air't him to the lanely spat 

Whare ony creature lay : 
Though scarce twa tether-length his e'en 
Could ken a midding by a green, 

Yet on he pushed his way. 

Alangst the drifted crumpin' knowes, 
A' roun' his glimmerin' een he rowes, 

Eor hares or bits o' burdies ; 
Aft taking ilka stane he saw, 
Bare raised aboon the glistering snaw, 

For pussey's crouchin' hurdies. 

Down through the glen between twa trees, 
At length sly glowrin' Eabby sees 

A hare amang the bushes : 
He chaps the flint — leans on a stump, 
Aff gaed the shot wi' thunerin' thump, 

An after 't Rabby rushes. 

But when he saw, guide's ! how he stood, 
His ain sow weltering in her blude, 

And sticks in anguish tearing ! 
Her deean squeels maist rung him deaf, 
He hung his head in silent grief, 

And wandered hame wards swearing. 



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wilson's poems. 103 



Attend ye squads o' wabsters a', 

Whare'er may be your byding, 
Whether ye hing ower muslins braw, 

Or sonsier sacks, or plaiding ; 
Ye've lost a patriarch and mair, 

Whase crown Death's lang been clooring, 
And I'se relate the haill affair, 

Though baith my een be pouring, 
Wi' grief this day. 

There lived a carle near a glen, 
Folk Callamphitre ca'ed him, 
"Wha saw lang sinty year and ten, 

Ere ever trouble gaed him ; 
He at the sewing-brod was bred, 

And wrought gude serge and tyken, 
And mony an auld wife's nest he clad 
Eu' brawly to their liking, 

And snug that day. 

Whare highland hills, out through the cluds, 

Lift up their snawy rigging, 
Beside a glen, atween twa wuds, 

Stood his bit ianely bigging : 
Nae pridefu' plaistered bield, wi' steps 

Planned out wi' square or tether ; 
But stanes rowt up in ithers taps, 

Co'ered ower wi' hardy heather, 
And turfs that day. 

His loom made o' stout aiken rungs, 

Had saired him saxty simmer, 
Though his lang lay wi' fearfu' fungs, 

Shook a' the roofing tim'er. 
As soon's braw day-light cleared the lift, 

He raise and waukent Jennock, 

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104 Wilson's poems. 

Laid ower his leg, and till't like drift, 
Till moon -light through his winnock 
Shone late at night. 

His banes were like a horse's Strang, 

His tusks like bear's or shark ; 
And foul a brither o' the gang, 

Wad dung him at his wark. 
He wad ha'e roar'd like ony nowt, 

When he o' pirns grew scanty, 
Till ance the hirpling pining gout 

Swall't baith his legs unhaunty, 

Like beams that day. 

But waes my heart ! anither ill 

On him spue't out its venom, 
And a' the doctors drogs or skill, 

Nae ease, alake ! could len' him ; 
It wrung his vera saul, poor chiel ! 

Wi' grips beneath his navel, 
Whilk made him roar, and girn, and squeel, 

As he had seen a devil, 

Or ghaist that day. 

Alangst a sack half fu' o' strae, 

Beneath an auld gray covering, 
Wi' face grim pale, and lips right blae, 

He lay, maist at the smothering. 
He fan Death's fearfu' grapple aims, 

And that he couldna free them ; 
Sae gasped out, " O bring my bairns, 

That I for ance may see them, 
This waefu' day." 

Wi' yowling clinch auld Jennock ran, 

Wi' sa'r like ony brock, 
To bring that remnant o' a man, 

Her foster brither Jock. 



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Wilson's poems. 105 

As soon's she reekt the sooty bield, 

Whare Labrod he sat cockin ; 
" Come down," she cried, "you lump o' eild, 

His vera guts he's bockan 

In blude this day." 

Down gaed the wark-looms — out he struts, 

Wi' dreadfu' fright, a' sweating, 
While Mirran, wi' her shoeling cloots, 

Kan yellochan and greeting. 
As soon's they to the house came in, 

And saw that he was deean, 
They stood a while baith deaf and blind, 

While down the tears came fleean 
In showers that day ! 

At length auld Callam gied a glower, 

And said, " May God be wi' ye ! 
Death's maunt at last to ding me ower, 

And I'll soon ha'e to lea' ye. 
Some sinfu' clues, the laft aboon, 

Ye'll fin' row't in a blanket" — 
Syne gied a fearfu' dreary croon, 

And aff for aye he shanket 

Wi' Death that day. 

dool ! whane'er they saw him gane, 

They raised a lamentation ; 
And yells, and sabs, and mony a grane, 

Declared their deep vexation. 
"Lord help us a' ! he'll e'en be mist," 

Quoth Jock, as up they bore him. 
Sae a' three streek't him on a kist, 

And waefully did co'er him 

Wi' a claith that day. 

G 4 

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WILSON S POEMS. 



O Mirran ! dinna rive yer hair, 

And wi' sic vengeance yelp sae ; 
My heart is for you a' right sair, 

But deed I canna help ye. 
Hech, see ! they've borne him to yon brae, 

And aff the mortclaith furled, 
And in a hole they've let him gae, 

Syne yird and stanes down hurled, 
Wi' spades this day. 

Some said he was a camsheugh bool, 

Nae yarn nor rapes could haud him, 
When he got on his fleesonie cowl, 

But may-be they misca'd him. 
While Jennock tum't the whiles' blade 

And waft in lapfu's left her, 
Frae's nieves the spool like light'ning fled, 

And raps cam thunerin' after, 

Like death that day. 

But now nae mair he'll bless their bield, 

Wi' gabby cracks and stories ; 
He fell a prey to runkly eild, 

And's trampit aff afore us. 
Let ilka shop his praises roar, 

In melancholious metre, 
And at the hin-er-en' o' ilk bore, 

Mourn out, O Callamphitre ! 

Thou'rt dead this day. 



O thou wha 'midst lang yellow ranks 
O' gowans, on sweet Cartha's banks, 
Row't in a skinklan plaid, 

a Author of a volume of Poems. 



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wilson's poems. 107 

Sounds loud the Scottish Muse's horn, 
Aneath some spreadin eldren thorn, 

And raaks the herdies glad ; 
While lads and laughin' lasses free 

Chirt in to hear thy sang, 
Will Eben let a chiel like me 
Join wi' the cheerfu' thrang ? 
A wee while, in auld stile, 
On Pegassus I'll scrive, 
Sae tent me, and canty 
I soon sal tak my leave. 

This half a year yer funny tales, 

Ower mosses, mountains, seas and dales, 

I've carried i' my lingle ; 
And scores o' times, in kintra tafts, 
They've gart the fouk maist rive their chafts, 

Whan owre a bra' peat ingle, 
I loot them hear droll Symon's crack, 

Wi' Hodge, twa curious cronies, 
How the queer carles sae camsheugh spak', 
'Bout pouther't cockernonies. 
Young Jenny and Nannie, 

And Meg wad laught thegither, 
Sly sneeran and swearan, 

" Od, that's just like our father." 

Whan " Aul' Joanna i' the brae," 
Or "Bonny Bell," and mony mae 

They hear me try to tout ; 
Or when poor "Brownie" tells his tale, 
How he was maist kidnapped hale, 

Blude drappan frae his snout : 
When "Yon Spat's" fearfu' fa' ye mourn, 

In simple hammart croon, 
Nae mair to get a fearfu' turn 

Aneath its biggin' doon ; 

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108 wilson's poems. 

L — d help me ! they yelp me, 

Wi' laughin' near han' deaf, 
While sweatin' and greetin' 

I turn the tither leaf. 

" Preserve's !" says Jean, and stops her wheel, 
" And do ye really ken the chiel ! 
And whar-awa's his dwallin ?" 
"I'd gang," quoth Meg, "a simmer day 
To get ae glint o'm in my way, 

Though I soud spen a shilling." 
Out granes auld grannie frae the neuk, 

Whare at the rock she's rivan, 
" Vow sirs ! and did he mak the beuk 
Just out his ain contrivin ! 
Whare-e'er he's I'm sure he's 

A minister, or mair ; 
Sic stories, sae curious, 
Wad tak a man o' lear." 

But, Eben, thinkna' this but clatter, 
And that I tell't for fau't o' matter, 

To lengthen out a crack, 
Its what I've heard a hun'er times 
The fouk exclaim, wha read your rhymes, 

Or may I burn my pack. 
Wi' chiels o' taste and genius baith, 

I aften hae forgather^; 
And war I to relate their breath 
O' you, ye'd say I blether't. 
Wi' leisure and pleasure, 

I've seen them aft read owre, 
While strokes o' wit, wi' ready hit, 
Gart aft the reader glowre. 

For me, when I begin to read 
About auld honest Harry dead ; 
Beneath the yird laid stieve in, 

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wilson's poems. 109 

Or at the bauld brooze o' wasps and bees, 
"Whilk had set Allan in a bleeze, 
Had the auld bard been livin' ; 
Or that which scorns the bounds o' rhyme, 

Fate, sung in lofty strains, 
Owre whilk I've grutten mony a time, 
And blest ye for yer pains. 
Whan these, and a thousan' 

Mae beauties strike my e'e, 
Inspired, I'm fired 
Wi' won'rous thoughts o' thee. 

Let senseless critics roun' ye squeel, 
And curl like ony empron eel, 

Wi' want o' taste or spite ; 
Nane e'er gat fame in's native spat, 
The vera haly Beuk says that, 
But let them girn and flyte. 
While I can douk in ink a quill, 

And blether rhyme or prose ; 
While spoons and ladles help to fill 
My kyte wi' kail or brose, 
Believe it, while I'm fit 

The right frae left to know it, 
I'll reverence, while blest wi' sense, 
The poems and the poet. 

If ever Fortune, thrawart b — h ! 
Soud kick me in misfortune's ditch, 

A while to lie and warsle ; 
Gif I yer sangs hae in my fab, 
And whiles a glass to heet my gab, 

And snuff to smart my girsle ; 
Though beagles, hornings, and sic graith, 

Glowre roun' they ne'er sal dread me : 
I'll canty chant aul' Harry's death, 

While up the stair they lead me, 
H 

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110 Wilson's poems. 

I'll roar than, I'll soar than, 
Out through the vera cluds, 

Though hung roun', and clung roun', 
Wi' stenchers and wi' duds. 

Owre highlan' hills I've roved this while, 
Ear to the north, whare uiony a mile 

Ye'll naething see but heather ; 
And now-and-than a wee bit cot, 
Bare, hunkerin' on some lanely spot, 

Whare ither words they blether. 
Last owk there on a winnock-sole, 

I fan some aul' newspaper, 
And though 'twas riven in mony a hole, 
Yet, fegs, it made me caper ; 
Whan scanin't, I fan'in't 

Some rhyme I ne'er had seen, 
How nature ilk creature 

Maks canty, blythe, and bien. 

Ha, Eben ! hae I catcht ye here, 
Quoth I, in unco glee and cheer, 
While their nainsels a' gapet, 
And speer't right droll, gin she was mine, 
And whareabouts me did her tine ? 

(While aff the sang I clippet,) 
Some bawbies bury't a' the plea, 

Though they afore war sweer o't, 
Sae aff I came in clever key, 
Kesolved to let you hear o't ; 
Now farewell, my braw chiel, 

Lang tune the reed wi' spirit ; 
Let asses spit clashes, 
Fools canker aye at merit. 



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wilson's poems. Ill 

Leadhills, April 

Hail ! kind, free, honest-hearted swain, 

My ne'er forgotten frien', 
Wha aft has made me since wi' pain, 

We parted dight my e'en ; 
Ance mair frae aff a lanely plain, 

Whare warlocks wauk at e'en, 
And witches dance, I'll raise my strain 

Till to your bield bedeen 

It sound this day. 

Wide muirs that spread wi' purple sweep, 

Beneath the sunny glowe ; 
Hills swelled vast here — there dark glens deep 

Whare brooks embosomed rowe ; 
Cots hingin' ower the woody steep, 

Bields reekin' frae the howe, 
Wild scenes like these, a blissfu' heap, 

Has driven' t in my powe 

To write this day. 

Be this thy last, my Muse, and swear 

By a' that e'er thou sung, 
'Till Mitchell's cheerfn' sang thou hear, 

To chain thy tuneless tongue — 
Its sworn ! I saw her frowning rear 

Her arm, and while it hung 
Aloft in air, glens that lay near, 

And rocks re-echoing rung 

Consent this day. 

Yet wha can, daunerin' up thir braes, 

No fin' his heart a' dancin', 
While herdies sing wi' huggert taes, 

And wanton lambs are prancin', 



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112 wilson's poems. 

Or down the spreadin' vale to gaze, 

Whare glitt'rin' burns are glancin', 
And sleepin' lochs, ower whase smooth face 

Wild fowl sport the expanse in, 
Ilk bonny day. 

Here mountains raise their heathery backs, 

Hanged huge aboon the lift, 
In whase dark bowels, for lead tracts, 

Swarmed miners howk and sift ; 
High ower my head the sheep in packs, 

I see them mice-like skift, 
The herd maist like anes finger, wauks 

Aboon yon fearfu' clift 

Scarce seen this day. 

Here mills rin thrang, wi' whilk in speed 

They melt to bars the ore in ; 
Nine score o' fathoms shanks down lead, 

To let the hammerin' core in, 
Whare hun'ers for a bit o' bread 

Continually are borin' ; 
Glowre down a pit you'd think, wi' dread, 

That gangs o' deils war roarin' 

Frae h — that way. 

Alangst the mountain's barren side, 

Wi' holes and caverns digget, 
In lanely raws, withouten pride, 

Their bits o' huts are bigget ; 
Nae kecklin' hens about the door, 

E'er glad their cheerless lucky, 
They pick the pyles o' leaden ore, 

Whilk to poor heedless chucky 

Is death that day. a 

a The truth of this has been often fatally experienced by the 
inhabitants of these wild mountains. 

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Wilson's foe3is. 113 

A wimplan burn atween the hills, 

Through mony a glen rins trottin', 
Amang the stanes and sunny rills 

Aft hits o' gowd are gotten ; 
Thought I " Three yeer through closs and trance, 

And doors I've been decoy't, 
Now fortune's kussen me up a chance, 

And fegs I sal employ' t 

Right thrang this day." 
Sae up the burn, wi' glee I gade, 

And down aboon some heather, 
Saft on the brae my pack I laid, 

Till twa- three lumps I'd gather ; 
But wae-be-till't, had I foreseen 

Things war to turn sae doolfu', 
I ne'er had waded there sae keen, 

Though sure to fin a shoolfu' 

And mair that day. 
As through the stream, wi' loutin' back, 

Thrang stanes and sand I threw out, 
A Toop, who won'ert at my pack, 

Cam down to take a view o't ; 
A tether-length he back did gae, 

And cam wi' sic a dash, 
That hale- sale hurlan' down the brae, 

It blatter't wi' a blash 

I' the burn that day ! 
Though earthquakes, hail and thun'er's blaze 

Had a' at ance surroundet, 
I wudna' glowr't wi' sic amaze, 

Nor been half sae confoundet ! 
Wi' waefu' heart, before it sank, 

I haul't it out a' clashing, 
And now they're bleaching on the bank, 

A melancholy washing 

To me this day. 
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114 wilson's poems. 



WRITTEN WHEN SICK. 

When dread Disease assaults our trembling breath, 
Wrings every nerve and paves the way for death, 
Raves through our vitals, merciless to save, 
Boils in each vein and points us to the grave ; 
Racked with the pain, despairing at the view, 
We fly for help to pitying Heaven and you. 

Oft have I thought, while health flowed in my 
breast, 
Ere sleepless nights my weary heart opprest, 
That should pale Sickness sternly me invade 
I'd scorn her rage if Taylor lent his aid. 
Roused at the name, lo! disappointed Death, 
In vain wild-wrenching to dislodge the breath, 
Starts from the lonely couch — grasps up his dart, 
And sullen- shrinking owns thy healing art. 

Amid those numbers that implore your care, 
That hope, by you, sweet health again to share, 
Here I unhappy stand, with sadness prest, 
And pined by ills that bind my lab'ring breast ; 
But should these woes that now I'm forced to bear, 
Ely from your touch, and with them ev'ry fear ; 
Should your blest skill expunge this threat'ning pain, 
And I resume my former health again, 
This grateful heart your goodness shall revere 
Next that almighty God, whose hand you are. 



ftS£WWJiU£, 

A REAL CHARACTER. 

I hate the man who builds his fame 

On ruins of another's name. 

Gay. 

Eusebus, fond a patriot to commence, 
With self-conceit supplies his want of sense. 



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wilson's poems. 115 

In power an idiot, striving still to rise : 

Though void of wisdom, arrogantly wise. 

A slander fond from whispering lips to steal, 

And fonder still those whispers to reveal. 

Amid a group of tattling matrons set, 

How flows his eloquence ! how beams his wit ! 

With dark suspicion struck, he shakes his head, 

Just hints what some folk were, what some folk did; 

For nought delights him more than others woe ; 

To see them fall, or strive to lay them low. 

In wide extremes his judgment loves to dwell; 
If not in heaven you'll find it squat in hell ; 
Though long each station seldom he can keep, 
Yet when he shifts, he does it at a leap. 
If Spring, more mild than usual, sweet appear, 
To wake the herbs and bless the opening year, 
With words like these our ears eternal ring, 
" Did ever mortal see so blest a Spring !" 
But when rude frost, or cheerless rains descend, 
When light'nings flash and roaring thunders rend ; 
He hears the storm, and pale with boding fear, 
Declares that great, tremendous period near, 
For storms like these no soul did ever hear. 

Thrice blest are they who gain him as their friend, 
Their matchless fame shall far and near extend ; 
They're saints, they're angels, but his friendship o'er, 
They're poor, curst, vile, a villain, or a wh — e. 



Crail, a January, 

Nae doubt ye'll glowre whane'er ye leuk, 
And see I'm maist at Scotland's neuk, 
Whare owre the waves black swarms o' deuk 
Soom far and near, 

a A small fishing town near Fife-ness. 



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116 Wilson's poems. 

And laden't ships to try their luck, 

For Holland steer. 

And let them gang, for me — nae mair 
My luck I'll try at selling ware, 
I've sworn by a' aboon the air 

To quat the pack, 
Or deed I doubt baith me and gear 

Wad gang to wrack. 

Three year through muirs and bogs I've squattert, 
Wi' duddy claes and huggars tatter't, 
Sleepit in barns, lee't, and clatter't, 

Thrang sellin' claith, 
And now wi' storms I've maist been batter't 

And smoor't to death. 

Nor think this droll, when sic a clash 
O' snaw and sleet, and sic caul' trash, 
Ilk day I hae out through to plash, 

Owre muir and brae, 
And ablins whiles but little cash, 

Whilk maks ane wae. 

'Twas just yestreen, as tired and flaw 
I waded hame through drifted snaw, 
ISTae livin' creature, house or ha', 

Perceived I cheery, 
But muir and mountain, glen and shaw, 

War sad and dreary. 

Mirk fell the night, and frae the wast 
Loud roar't the bitter-biting blast, 
The blatterin' hail, right fell and fast, 

O'erscourged my face ; 
While owre the drifted heaps I past 

Wi' weary pace. 

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Wilson's poems. 117 

As down a knowe my way I hel' ; 
Nane wi' me but my lanely sel', 
Whistlin' fu' blythe, trouth, sir, to tell 

The mournfu' truth, 
Down through a wreath o' snaw I fell, 

Maist to the mouth. 

As soon's I fan' I yet was livin', 

I raised me e'en wi' doolfu' grieving, 

Gude fegs ! I wish I'd yet been weavin' ; 

For deed I doubt, 
Sae deep I'm down and Avedged sae stive in, 

I'll ne'er win out. 

But out at last I maun to speel, 
Far mair than e'er I thought atweel, 
. Roun' for my pack I straight did feel, 
But de'il-be-licket 
I fan' or saw, — quoth I, fareweel, 

For death I'm pricket. 

This is the last, the snellest lick, 
That I'll e'er get frae Fortune's stick ; 
Now she may lift a stane or brick 

And break my back. 
Since her and Cloots has plann'd this trick 

To steal my pack ! 

To keep you, sir, nae mair uneasy, 

I'll tell you what, mayhap, will please ye, 

I gat my pack, quoth I, I'se heeze ye 

Frae out the snaw, 
Nae de'il in a' the pit sal seize ye, 

Till I'm awa'. 

But I maun stop, for dull and dozin', 
The glimmerin' wintry evening flows in, 

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118 wilson's poems . 

The short-lived day his reign is losin' 

The scene to shift, 
And Natures' winnock-brods are closin' 

Across the lift. 



IN THE MANNER OF SHENSTONE. 

Ah ! where can the comfortless fly ? 

(Young Damon disconsolate said, 
The tears starting fast from his eye, 

As reclining he sat in the shade.) 
Ah ! where can the comfortless fly ? 

To whom shall the wretched repair ? 
Who hoping for happiness nigh, 

Are met by approaching despair ! 
I hoped, but alas ! 'twas in vain, 

When forward through fate I explored, 
That Fame would take wing with my strain, 

And Plenty still smile at my board : 
And oh ! how my bosom did glow 

To see that my sorrows would end ! 
That Fate would its blessings bestow, 

To gladden my fair one and friend ! 
O then, when the woods were all mute, 

And groves by the evening embrowned, 
How I'd wake the slow mellow-toned flute, 

While shepherds stood listening around ; 
They praised the soft, ravishing air, 

That warbled so pleasing and free ; 
But a smile or a look from my fair, 

Was more than their praises to me. 
Blest prospects ! far hence ye have fled, 

And left me all friendless and poor ; 
Stern Poverty stalks round my shed, 

And Kuin glares grim at the door. 



wilson's poems. 119 

Ah ! where can the comfortless fly ? 

To whom shall the wretched repair ? 
Who hoping for happiness nigh, 

Are met by approaching despair ! 



FROM MACPHERSON'S TRANSLATION. 

Hard by a rock that from the mountain rose, 

Where aged trees hung o'er their withered boughs, 

Low on the moss, long lost to joy and peace, 

Old Ossian sat, the last of Eingal's race ; 

Sightless his aged eyes, his visage pale, 

And white his beard flowed in the waving gale ; 

Silent he listened to the northern breeze 

That cheerless whistled through the leafless trees, 

Grief in his soul began afresh to bleed, 

And thus he mourned in deepest woe the dead : — 

" How, like the monarch of the waving wood, 
Long beat by winds and lashed by tempests rude, 
How hast thou fall'n before the roaring gust, 
With all thy branches round thee in the dust ! 
Where now is Eingal the renowned king ? 
Where Oscur brave, my son, young, fresh as Spring? 
Where all my race, so fearless once and gay ? 
All, all alas ! lie mouldering in the clay. 
Here as I sit, to wail their hapless doom, 
Around I grope and feel each warrior's tomb, 
While, far below, the river's rushing sweep 
Pours hoarsely roaring dowD each rocky steep. 

M Ah ! while thy once-known currents past me roll, 
What, O lone river ! say 'st thou to my soul ? 
Back to my mind, worn with Misfortune's blast, 
Thou bring'st the sad remembrance of the past. 



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WILSON S POEMS. 



" Eanged on thy banks the race of Fingal stood, 
Strong as the lofty, black, aspiring wood, 
Keen glanced their steely spears with fiery rage, 
And bold was he who durst that wrath engage ; 
Amid the chiefs great Fillan did appear, 
And Oscur ! thou my noble son wast there ; 
There Fingal stood, unknown to trembling fears, 
Strong in the white, the hoary locks of years ; 
Full rose his sinewy limbs, firm fell his tread, 
And wide and fair his ample shoulders spread ; 
Soon as the terrors of his wrath arose, 
Beneath his arm how sunk his dying foes ! 

" Gaul, son of Morny came, forth from his place, 
The tallest, hugest of the human race ; 
High as an oak upon the hill he stood, 
His voice loud roaring like the roaring flood, 
* Why reigns (he cries in proud contempt) alon' 
The mighty Corval's feeble, tim'rous son ? 
Unfit is Fingal's slender arm to save ; 
He ne'er support to his poor people gave ; 
But here I stand enthroned in terrors now, 
Fierce as a whirlwind on the mountain's brow ; 
Strong as a storm that roars amid the , 
Yield son of Corval, coward, yield to me !' 

" Forth Oscur stood, his breast with rage did glow, 
(My son, my noble son would meet the foe !) 
But Fingal came, high- moving through the host, 
And smiled to hear the haughty vaunter's boast ; 
Around each other hard their arms they threw, 
And fierce the fight, and dread the combat grew, 
Madly they struggled o'er the trembling ground, 
And deep their heels ploughed up the earth around, 
Loud crack'd their bones. As where white billows rave 
The boat leaps light from dashing wave to wave. 
Long toiled the chiefs the doubtful field to gain, 
And fell, with night, upon the sounding plain. 



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wilson's poems. 121 

"Thus two huge oaks before the tempest's sweep, 
With mingled boughs, roll crashing clown the steep, 
Bound was the son of Moray, mute with shame, 
The hoary, aged hero overcame. 

"Fair, with her golden locks of glossy show, 
Her polished neck and rising breasts of snow ; 
Fair, as the spirits of the hill appear 
When from the cliffs they charm the list'ning ear ; 
Or when to view, light as the morning's breath, 
At silent noon they glide along the heath ; 
Pair as the arch o'er heav'ns wide dome displayed, 
So fair came Min vane the delightful maid. 
'Fingal,' she softly said in accents sweet, 
* Loose me my brother from his conqueror's feet, 
Oh loose my Gaul, — my race's hope alone ! 
"For all but Fingal tremble at his frown.' 
1 Shall I (replied the King) thy suit deny, 
Thou lovely daughter of the mountain high ? 
No, free thy brother take, and welcome go, 
Sweet Minvane ! fairer than the northern snow.' 

" Such Fingal were thy words, sweet in my ear, 
But now ©o more shall I these accents hear ; 
To wail - ^ friends, and mourn their hapless doom, 
Here sit I, sightless, by the dreary tomb ; 
Wild through the wood I hear the tempest roar, 
But see my friends and hear their voice no more. 
Ceased is the cry of hunters from afar, 
And hushed, for ever, the loud voice of War." 



<§>= 



Skgg 

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY. 

Thou dearest object of my soul on earth, 

Thou kind, young sharer of my joys and woe, 

Forgive, while here I pour my sorrows forth, 
E'er life's last current from its fountain flow. 

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WILSON S POEMS. 



The hour arrives with heaven's supreme behest ; 

Advancing death in awful pomp I see ; 
Disease slow writhes within my troubled breast ; 

And past are all the joys of life with me. 

Farewell ye pleasing scenes of fond delight. 

Farewell ye hopes that promised once so well ; 
Ye charms that shot through my enraptured sight; 

Ye days of peace, ye nights of joy farewell. 

No more with thee the drowsy town I'll leave, 
To tread the dews, and breathe the sweets of morn, 

Nor fondly wish the dear return of eve, 

To meet thee blushing near the lonely thorn. 

The eyes that gazed unwearied on thy charms, 
The heart that wont at sight of thee to leap, 

A few sad hours will finish its alarms, 
And seal their orbs in everlasting sleep. 

When this weak pulse hath numbered out its date, 
When all my hopes and all my fears are o'er, 

When each young friend shall pensive tell my fate, 
And death's black train stand mournful at my door ; 

Then, oh ! Lavinia, while thou dost survey, 
The pale changed features, once to thee well known, 

The limbs that flew thy dictates to obey, 
The arms that oft enclasped thee as their own ; 

Check not the tear that trembles in thine eye, 
Nor stop the sigh that struggles from thy heart ; 

These are the rites for which I'd rather die, 
Than all the pomp of marble and of art. 

Lavinia, oh ! thou dear, thou precious name ! 
That opes each wound, and tears my trembling 
hea^t, 



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Wilson's poems. 123 

Wilt thou vouchsafe one poor request I claim, 
To breathe one wish, one prayer ere we part ? 

O round thy head may heaven its blessings strew ! 

May angels waft each comfort to thy cell, 
Pure be thy peace — thy tears, thy troubles few, 

Thou kindest maid, thou dearest friend, farewell. 



©jjj* %%WCtl HBlgfUU^, 



OR THE MERITS OF ALLAN RAMSAY A^D ROBERT FERGUSSON 
CONTRASTED. 

Delivered in the Pantheon, at Edinburgh, on Thursday, 14th 
April, 1791, on the Question—" Whether have the exertions of 
Allan Ramsay or Robert Fergusson done more honour to 
Scotch Poetry." 

To Merit's brow this garland gives the Muse, 
For who to Merit would a wreath deny ? 

Though^base Xeglect the due deserts refuse, 
Fair Fame forbids the poet's name to die. 

Before ye a' ha'e done, I'd humbly crave, 
To speak twa words or three amang the lave, 
No for mysel', but for an honest carl, 
Wha's seen right mony changes i' the warl\ 
But is sae blate, down here he durstna come, 
Lest, as he said, his fears might ding him dumb ; 
And then he's frail — sae begged me to repeat 
His simple thoughts about this fell debate ; 
He gied me this lang scroll, its e'en right brown ; 
I'se let you hear't, as he has it set down. 

" Last ouk, our Elpsa wi' some creels o' eggs, 
And three fat eerocks fastened by the legs, 
Gaed down to Embrugh, caft a new bane kame, 
And brought a warl' o' news and clashes hame. 
For she's scarce out a day, and gets a text, 
But I'm dung deaf wi' clatter a' the next ; 

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124 Wilson's poems. 

She'll tell a' what she heard frae end to end, 
Her cracks to wives, wives cracks to her again , 
Till wi' quo' I's, quo' she's, and so's, her skirle 
Sets my twa lugs a ringing like a gir'le. 

" 'Mang ither ferlies whilk my kimmer saw, 
Was your print paper battered on the wa' ; 
She said she kentna rightly what it meant, 
But saw some words o' goud and poets in't. 
This gart me glour, sae aff sets I my lane 
To Daniel Eeid's, an auld frien' o' my ain ; 
He gets the news, and tauld me that ye'd hecht 
A dawd o' goud, on this same Fursday night, 
To him wha'd show, in clinking verses drest, 
Gin Ramsay's sangs, or Fergusson's were best. 

" Trouth I was glad to hear ye were sae kind, 
As keep our slee-tongued billies in your mind ; 
And though our Elpsa ca'd me mony a gowk 
To think to speak amang sae mony folk, 
I got my staff, put on my bonnet braid, 
And best blue breeks, that were but fern-year made ; 
A saxpence too, to let me in bedeen, 
And thir auld spentacles to help my een ; 
Sae I'm come here, in hopes ye'll a' agree, 
To hear a frank auld kintra man like me. 

" In days when Dryden sang ilk bonny morn, 
And Sandy Pope began to tune his horn, 
When chiels round Lon'on chaunted a' fu' thrang, 
But poor auld Scotland sat without a sang ; 
Droll Will Dunbar, frae fly ting then was freed, 
And Douglas too, and Kennedy were dead, 
And nane were left, in namely cracks to praise 
Our ain sweet lasses, or our ain green braes. 
Far aff our gentles for their poets flew, 
And scorned to own that Lallan sangs they knew, 

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wilson's poems. 125 

Till Kamsay raise. O blythesome, hearty days ! 
When Allan tuned his chaunter on the braes ! 
Auld Reekie then, frae blackest, darkest wa's 
To richest rooms resounded his applause, 
And when the nights were dreary, lang, and dark, 
The beasts a' fothered, and the lads frae wark, 
The lasses' wheels, thrang birring round the ingle, 
The ploughman, boring wi' his brogs and lingle, 
The herd's wires clicking o'er the half- wrought hose, 
The auld gudeman's een ha'flings like to close, 
The ' Gentle Shepherd' frae the bole was ta'en, 
Then sleep I trow was banished frae their een, 
The cankriest then was kittled up to daffing, 
And sides and chafts maist riven were wi' laughing. 

" Sic were the joys his cracks cou'd eith afford 
To peer and ploughman, barrowman, or lord ; 
In ilka clachan, wife, man, wean, and callan, 
Cracket and sang frae morn to e'en o' Allan. 

" Learned fouk, that lang in colleges and schools, 
Hae sucket learning to the vera hools, 
And think that naething charms the heart sae weel's 
Lang cracks o' gods, Greeks, Paradise, and de'ils, 
Their pows are crammed sae fu' o' lear and art, 
Plain simple nature canna reach their heart ; 
But where's the rustic that can, reading, see 
Sweet Peggy skiffing o'er the dewy lea, 
Or wishfu' stealing up the sunny howe, 
To gaze on Pate laid sleeping on the knowe ; 
Or hear how Bauldy ventured to the de'il, 
How thrawn auld Carlings skelpit him afiel' ; 
How Jude wi's hawk met Satan i' the moss ; 
How' skin-flint graned his pocks o' goud to loss ; 
How bloody snouts and bloody beards were gi'en 
To smiths and clowns at 'Christ's kirk on the green ;' 
How twa daft herds, wi' little sense or havengs, 
Dined by the road, on honest Hawkie's leavings, 

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126 Wilson's poems. 

How Hab maist brak' the priest's back wi' a rung; 
How deathless Addie died, and how he sung ; 
Whae'er can thae (o' mae I needna speak) 
Head tenty o'er, at his ain ingle cheek, 
And no find something glowan through his blood, 
That gars his een glower through a siller flood, 
May close the beuk, poor coof ! and lift his spoon, 
His heart's as hard's the tackets in his shoon. 

" Lang saxty years ha'e whitened o'er this powe, 
And mony a height I've seen, and mony a ho we, 
But aye when Elspa flate, or things gaed wrang, 
Next to my pipe was Allie's sleekit sang ; 
I thought him blyther ilka time I read, 
And mony a time, wi' unco glee I've said, 
That ne'er in Scotland wad a chiel appear, 
Sae droll, sae hearty, sae confounded queer ; 
Sae glibly-gabbet, or sae bauld again, 
I said, I swor't — but deed I was mista'en. 
Up frae Auld Reekie Fergusson begoud, 
In fell auld phrase, that pleases aye the crowd, 
To cheer their hearts whiles wi' an antrin sang, 
Whilk far and near round a' the kintra rang. 

" At first I thought the swankie didna ill — 
Again I glowr'd to hear him better still. 
Bauld, slee and sweet, his lines mair glorious grew, 
Glowed round the heart, and glanced the soul out- 
through ; 
But when I saw the freaks o' Hallow Fair, 
Brought a' to view as plain as I'd been there, 
And heard, wi' teeth 'maist chattering in my head, 
Twa kirk-yard ghaists raised goustly frae the dead; 
Daized Sandy greetan for his thriftless wife, 
How Camscheuch Sandy sud been fed in Fife ; 
Poor Will and Geordy mourning for their frien', 
The Farmer's Ingle, and the cracks at e'en, 



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wilson's poems. 127 

My heart cried out, while tears were drapping fast, 

Ramsay, Kamsay, art thou beat at last ! 

" Ae night the lift was s y inkling a' wi' starns, 

1 crossed the burn, and c&'dnered through the cairns, 
Down to a? Id Andrew Kalston's o' Craig-neuk, 
To hear his thoughts, as he had seen the book. 
(Andrew's a gay droll hand — yell ablins ken him, 
It mak's na, I had hecht some sangs to lend him,) 

* Aweel,' quo' I, as soon's I reek't the hallan, 

* What think ye now o' our bit Embrugh callan ?' 

* Saf 's man,' quo' Andrew, * yon's an u f nco chiel, 
He surely has some dealings wi' the de'il ! 
There's no a turn that ony o' us can work at, 
At hame, or yet a-field, at kirk or market, 
But he describes' t as paukily and fell, 
As gin he'd been a kintra man himsel. 
Yestreen, I'm sure, beside our auld gudewife, 
I never leugh as meikle a' my life, 
To read the King's Birth- day's fell hurry-burry, 
How draigled pussey flies about like fury ; 
Faith, I ken that's a fact. — The last birth-day, 
As I stood glowering up and down the way, 
A dead cat's guts, before I could suspect, 
Harled through dirt, came clash about my neck, 
And while wi' baith my nieves frae 'bout I took it, 
TVT perfect stink, I thought I would ha'e bocket. 

" ' His stories too, are tell'd sae sleek and haul', 
Ilk oily word rins jingling through the saul. 
What he describes before your een ye see't, 
As plain and lively as ye see that peat. 
'Tis my opinion, John, that this young fallow 
Excels them a', and beats auld Allan hallow, 
And shows at twenty-twa as great a giftie 
For painting just, as Allan did at fifty.' 

" You, Mr, President, ken weel yersel', 
Better by far than kintra-fouks can tell, 
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128 wilson's poems. 

That they wha reach the gleg auld farrant art, 

In verse to melt, and soothe and mend the heart ; 

To raise up joy or rage, or courage keen, 

And gar ilk passion sparkle in our een : 

Sic chiels, whare'er they ha'e their ha' or hame, 

Are true-blue bards, and wordy o' the name. 

Sud ane o' thae, by lang experience, man 

To spin out tales frae mony a pawky plan, 

And set's a-laughing at his blauds o' rhyme, 

Wi' sangs aft polished by the hand o' time ; 

And should some stripling, still mair light o' heart, 

A livelier humour to his cracks impart ; 

Wi' careless pencil draw, yet gar us stare 

To see our ain fire- sides and meadows there ; 

To see our thoughts, our hearts, our follies drawn, 

And nature's sel' fresh starting frae his haun ; 

Wad mony words, or speeches lang be needed, 

To tell whase rhymes were best, were clearest headed ? 

" Sits there within the four wa's o' this house, 
Ae chield o' taste, droll, reprobate, or douse, 
Whase blessed lugs hae heard young Eob himsel', 
Light as the lamb that dances on the dell, 
Lay aff his auld Scots cracks wi' pawky glee, 
And seen the fire that darted frae his e'e ? 
O let him speak ! O let him try t' impart 
The joys that then gushed headlong on his heart, 
When ilka line, and ilka lang-syne glower — 
Set faes and friends, and pantheons in a roar ! 
Did e'er auld Scotland find a nobler pride 
Through a' her veins, and glowing bosom glide, 
Than when her Muses' dear young fav'rite bard, 
Wi' her haill strength o' wit, and fancy fired, 
liaise frae the thrang, and kindling at the sound, 
Spread mirth, conviction, truth and rapture round ? 

" To set Rob's youth and inexperience by, 
His lines are sweeter, and his flights mair high. 



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wilson's poems. 129 

Allan, I own, may show far mair o' art, 

Eob pours at once his raptures on the heart ; 

The first by labour mans our breast to move, 

The last exalts to ecstacy and love : 

In Allan's verse, sage sleeness we admire ; 

In Rob's, the glow of fancy and of fire, 

And genius bauld, that nought but deep distress, 

And base neglect, and want, could e'er suppress. 

" O hard, hard fate ! — but cease, thou friendly 
tear, 
I darna mourn my dear lo'ed bardie here, 
Else I might tell how his great soul had soared, 
And nameless ages wondered and adored ; 
Had friends been kind, and had not his young breath, 
And rising glory been eclipsed by death. 

" But lest owre lang I lengthen out my crack, 
And Epps be wearying for my coming back, 
Let ane and a' here vote as they incline, 
Erae heart and saul Eob Eergusson has mine." 



Now Night her star-enamelled robe, 
O'er half the dreary, darkened globe, 

In solemn state has hung, 
Lone now the distant, murmuring flood, 
And lone the thicket, grove and wood, 

Where warblers lately sung. 

The distant town, behind yon steep, 
Now silent lies, and sunk in sleep, 

Dark, solitary, sad ; 
No voice, no sound can reach my ear, 
Save shepherd's dogs, who haply hear 

The midnight traveller's tread, 

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130 wilson's poems. 

Amid this calm, this silence deep, 
I wander here, to sigh, to weep, 

And breathe my hopeless flame ; 
To rocks and woods I still complain, 
To woods and rocks, alas ! in vain 

I sigh Matilda's name. 

O Love ! thou dear, distracting bliss, 
Assist my bosom to express 

Those pains, those joys I feel ; 
Joy, that enraptures while I gaze, 
And pain, that tortures, while the blaze 

Of love I must conceal. 

Sweet is her form, her features meek, 
And bright the crimson of her cheek 

Beyond the roses' glow. 
Hers is the heart, with softness blest, 
And hers each worth that warms the breast 

Gf innocence below. 

But, ah ! for ever we must part ! 
Forget her then, thou throbbing heart, 

Nor idly thus complain. 
Truth, prudence, reason, all can teach 
That Happiness, which mocks our reach, 

But aggravates our pain. 



SH&* JbnakftHe* 



-Dreadful attempt ! 



Just reeking from self-slaughter, in a rage 
To rush into the presence of our Judge ; 
As if we challenged him to do his worst, 
And mattered not his wrath Blair. 

Ye hapless sons of mis'ry and of woe, 
Whose days are spent with heart-distressing care, 
Who seem the sport of ruthless fate below, 
Still lab'ring hard, and still, as winter bare ; 



=® 



@= — - =@ 

\VILS0N*S POEMS. 131 

Tho' rough the path, tho' weighty be the share 
Of nameless ills, that press you ever down ; 
Oh ! never, never yield to dire despair, 
Or think your griefs intolerable grown ; 
Each has his secret load, and each must feel his own. 
ii. 
Is pale Disease, is Poverty your lot ? 
Or, are you doomed to some obscure employ ? 
Does mankind rate your merits by your coat ; 
Or burns your breast by Love's distracting boy? 
Yet still reflect what blessings you enjoy; 
Eeturning Health again may blush your face ; 
Glad Plenty smile — your toils forget to cloy, 
And Celia blush amid your chaste embrace, 
Then men shall see you decked with every worth 
and grace. 

in. 
Be wisely calm, and brave the adverse storm ; 
Let Hope to happier times direct your sight ; 
Though mis'ries stare in many a threat'ning form, 
Hope slacks their jaws and mitigates their bite: 
And though the present scene be black as night, 
Trust me, your hopes shall not be long in vain ; 
For oft, though Pain put Pleasure to the flight ; 
Yet Pleasure still dethrones the tyrant Pain, 
And soothes the weary soul to peace and joy again. 

IV. 

Unhappy they whose each returning morn 
Is filled with sad complaints and curses dire ; 
Fate ever frowns, and still they are forlorn, 
If each thing move not with their wild desire. 
'Gainst righteous heaven, with furious looks of fire, 
They rave, blaspheme, and roll in blackest sin, 
Till driven by mad despair and hopeless ire, 
To poison, dagger, or the engulphing linn, 
Unworthy heaven or earth, hell yawns to take them in. 
i 2 
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132 wilson's poems. 



Lone Night had lulled the drousy world asleep, 
And cloudy darkness wrapped the midnight sky, 
Scarce thro' the gloom the stars were seen to peep, 
This moment bright, then muffled from the eye ; 
The distant bittern's solemn- sounding cry, 
The breeze that sighed along the rustling grove, 
The hasty brook that ceaseless murmured by, 
Composed my thought as forth I went to rove, 
To sing Matilda's charms and mourn my hopeless 
love. 



As near a thicket's shade I pensive stood, 
The black trees waving solemnly around, 
Sudden I heard a rushing through the wood, 
And near me passed, along the dew- wet ground, 
A human form ; its head with white was bound, 
While loose its ruffled hair flew in the breeze ; 
A dagger fast it grasped ; and, at each sound, 
Would start, and stop, then glide among the trees, 
While slow I traced its steps, though trembled both 
my knees. 



Deep through the turnings of a darksome vale, 
Where blasted trunks hung from the impending 

steep, 
Where oft was heard the owl's wild dreary wail, 
Its course I followed, wrapt in silence deep. 
At length it paused, fear thro' my frame did creep, 
While still I looked, and softly stealing near, 
Heard mournful groans, as if it seemed to weep, 
And intervening sighs, and moanings drear, 
Till through the night's sad gloom these words broke 
on my ear : 



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wilson's poems. 133 



" Curst be the hour that to existence brought 
Me, wretched me ! to war with endless woe ! 
Curst be the wretch! and curst the barbarous 

thought 
That bade me stretch the bleeding beauty low ! 
Still from her breast the purple torrents flow ; 
Still, still I hear her loud for mercy crave — 
See ! — hark ; she groans, alas ! some pity show ! 
For love, for Heaven, for mercy's sake ! oh save ! 
No ; see her mangled corse floats o'er the midnight 

wave. 



" O earth ! O darkness ! hide her from my sight : 
Shall hell, shall furies rack me ere I die ? 
No, this shall sink me in eternal night, 
To meet those torments that I ne'er can fly. 
Ye yelling fiends that now around me hie, 
Exult and triumph in the accursed deed ; 
Soon in your flaming gulphs ye shall me spy, 
Despair, attend, the gloomy way to lead ; 
Eor what I now endure no hell can e'er exceed." 



He said : and, gazing furiously around, 
Plunged in his heart the dagger's deadly blade ; 
Deep, deep he groaned; and reeling to the ground, 
I rushed to rescue through the entangling shade ; 
Mat on the mossy sod I found him laid, 
And oft I called, and wept, and trembled sore ; 
But life was fled — too late all human aid : 
And while his grasp the shining dagger bore, 
His lifeless head lay sunk in blood and clotted gore. 



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134 wilson's poems. 

ftrtgim^ ; m tlji Batik o 

A. FRAGMENT — ATTEMPTED IN ENGLISH VERSE. 

Along the front of his high- walled abode 
Deep-wrapt in thought, the stately hero strode, 
Through his bold breast revolving those alarms 
That oft had roused and rushed him on to arms ; 
That through long seventy years would scarce allow 
Seven years of peace, to calm his aged brow. 
In times he lived, when Briton's breach of faith 
Filled Scotia's plains with tumult and with death ; 
Nor failed his sword, still to their cost to show, 
He stood their deadly, their determined foe. 

High on a hill's steep top his castle stood, 
Hung round with rocks, that frowned above the wood, 
The spiry turrets tow'ring through the sky ; 
The glittering halls that caught the distant eye, 
The wall's huge strength, that war could ne'er annoy, 
Foes viewed with terror, but each friend with joy ; 
For oft, when night her murky shades o'er cast, 
And lashed the rain, and roared the howling blast, 
The wand'ring knight here found a welcome home, 
Forgot his woes, and blest the friendly dome. 

Bold was the chief, brave Hardy knute his name ; 
And kind and courteous his endearing dame. 
Peerless she shone, for chastity and charms, 
When fav'ring Fate first gave her to his arms, 

a The battle of Largs was fought on the 1st of August, 1263, 
between Alexander III., king of Scotland, and Haquin V., 
king of Norway, in their contention for the Northern and Western 
Isles. Haquin had already reduced Bute and Arran ; and making 
a descent with 20,000 men on the continent, was encountered and 
defeated by the Scots army at Largs in Ayrshire ; upon which he 
retreated to his ships, and his fleet being dissipated, and in part 
destroyed by a tempest, he returned to the Orkneys, from whence 
he had made the descent, and there, after a few days' illness, ex- 
pired. 

^=^==^ , =, = @ 



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Wilson's poems. 135 

Kound all our sea-beat coasts no fair was seen 
To vie with her, save Emergard the queen. 
Full thirteen sons their nuptial blessings crowned, 
All heroes stout, for strength of arm renowned ; 
Eeared to the field, how did their bosoms glow, 
Through war's loud uproar, to pursue the foe ; 
Till armed with death, and raging o'er the plain, 
Nine nobly sunk amid th' illustrious slain. 
Four still remain — long may they fearless wield 
The burnished sword, and shake the glitt'riDg shield. 
And since their names from shore to shore extend, 
Since high their might and mighty their command, 
Still may their courage prove their bright reward, 
Their sovereign's glory and their country's guard. 

Though warlike deeds employ 'd their youthful care 
Great was the love they bore to Fairly Fair. 
Their sister she ; all softness, all delight ; 
Mild as the morn and beautiful as light. 
Her girdle, circling round her slender waist, 
Revealed a shape with fair proportion blest. 
Adown her breast the golden ringlets strayed, 
And every grace adorned the blooming maid. 
But, ah ! what griefs her fatal beauty bred ! 
What streams of tears have for these charms been shed. 
To young and old, to every friend unblessed, 
And sad as history's page has e'er expressed. 

Bright Summer now rolled on in splendid blaze, 
And o'er the fields diffused his genial rays, 
When Norway's king, stern, insolent, and vain, 
Proud of his power, and haughty with disdain, 
Reached Scotia's shores with many a hardy knight, 
Resolved for war, and burning for the fight. 

The rumour spreading wide on wings of fame, 
Soon to our sovereign's ear the tidings came, 
As round the sumptuous board, in regal state, 
With noble chiefs, in brave array, he sat, 



@ — ■ -= @ 

138 Wilson's poems. 

Circling, in glitt'ring cups, the wines' deep red, 
Red as the blood these heroes oft had shed, 
" To horse, to horse, my royal liege ! to horse ! 
Your daring foes, led by th' insulting Norse, 
Crowd all the strand, full twenty thousand strong, 
Pointing their spears in many a warlike throng." 
" Bring me my Mage, my dapple gray, in haste," 
Exclaimed our king, while starting from the feast, 
" A steed more trusty, 'gainst attacks more steeled, 
Ne'er bore Scot's chief, or monarch, to the field. 
And go, my page, tell Hardy knute, our prop, 
Whose castle crowns yon rugged mountain's top, 
To draw his sword, that sword foes dread to see, 
Call up his men, and haste and follow me." 

Swift flew the little page, fleet as the dart 
Flung from an arm to pierce some warrior's heart, 
Till reached the ancient dome's surrounding walls, 
Loud from the gate thus to the chief he calls : 
" Come down, great Hardy knute ! 'tis War I bring, 
Come down, my lord, assist your injured king." 

Tierce rose the warrior's soul — a fiery glow 
O'erspread his cheeks, and dy'd his dark brown brow ; 
And keen his looks, and stern his visage grew, 
As still they wont in dangers great to do. 
Loose from his side a glass-green horn he drew, 
And five shrill sounds forth from its circle blew. 
Wild shook the woods, the startled herds stood still, 
And the loud echoes rang around each hill. 

In manly sport his sons had spent the morn, 
When in a vale, faint on the breezes borne, 
They heard their father's war arousing horn. 
"That horn," they solemn said, "ne'er sounds in 

peace ; 
Some nobler deeds demand our sports to cease." 

@ - ^^====^===^ ©I 



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wilson's poems, 137 

Then up the hill they sped, with hostile fire, 
Rushed through the gate,and joined their warlike sire. 
The hoary chief surveyed each dauntless face, 
And thus addressed, with majesty and grace, 
" Last night, my sons, I hoped that free from strife, 
In peace and rest I'd close my eve of life, 
"Well might my age this weary arm acquit 
Prom martial feats, for years like yours more fit. 
But now, since Norse, in haughty fury "boasts 
T' enslave our land, and dares t' insult our coasts, 
Fame ne'er shall say, that Hardyknute, at call, 
E'er feared to fight, or gloriously to fall. 

"Robin of Rothsay, bend thy trusty bow, 
Unerring still thy whistling arrows go ; 
Full many a daring eye, and visage gay, 
They've shut in death, and changed to palest clay. 
Bold Thomas, take thy lance, no weapon more 
Thy arm requires to swell the tide of gore. 
If through the ranks its fury thou display, 
As on that great, that memorable day, 
When Westmoreland's fierce heir thy rage did feel, 
And, trembling, owned the terrors of thy steel. 
Malcolm, dispatch I thy path thou canst pursue, 
Swift as the stag, that flies the forest through, 
My fearless forces, summon to the field, 
Three thousand men, well trained to sword and shield. 
Bring me my courser, harnessing and blade ; 
(With dauntless look the aged hero said) 
Knew foes the hand that bears it to the fight, 
Soon would the boldest seek inglorious flight. 
Farewell, my dame ! for peerless good thou art ; 
Farewell! he said, and prest her to his heart; 
To me more fair, in age, you now appear 
Than maids whose beauty oft hath reached my ear. 
My youngest son shall with you here remain 
To guard our towers, and ease your anxious pain ; 



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138 Wilson's poems. 

Each night to shut the silver bolts, that keep 
Your painted rooms, and watch you while asleep." 
So spake the chief, and, mounting, siezed the reins, 
While his broad army moved along the plains. 

O'erwhelmed with grief and sad foreboding woe, 
Stood his fair spouse to see the warrior go ; 
The gushing tears, a melancholy scene ! 
Bedewed her comely cheeks and bodice green, 
Fast streaming down, unchecked and unconfined ; 
Her silken cords with glitt'ring silver twined, 
And apron sewed with curious diceings rare, 
The beauteous work of her own Fairly Fair. 

Mean time his march the undaunted chief pursued, 
O'er moors and hills, thro' vales and many a wood, 
Till to a grove he came, where, near the way, 
A wounded knight in lonely sorrow lay, 
Stretched on the grass, forlorn he seemed and faint, 
And, moaning deep, thus poured his sad complaint : 
" Here must I lie, alas ! here must I die 
By cruel treachery's false beguiling eye. 
Fool that I was a woman to believe, 
Whose faithless smiles were formed but to deceive." 

Him Hardyknute surveying, thus addrest, 
(For pity still found shelter in his breast :) 
" Ah, hapless knight ! were you my hall within, 
On softer silk your weary head to lean, 
My lady's care would soothe that piteous moan ; 
For deadly hate was still to her unknown ; 
With kind regard she'd watch you all the day, 
Her maids through midnight would your grief allay, 
And Fairly Fair with soft endearing art, 
Delight your eye and cheer your drooping heart. 
Arise, young knight, and mount your stately steed, 
The beauteous day beams bright o'er hill and mead. 
Choose whom you please from midst my faithful train, 
To guide your steps along the pathless plain." 



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wilson's poems. 139 



With languid look and cheeks in sorrow dyed, 
The wounded knight thus mournfully replied: 
"Kind, generous chieftain ! your intent pursue, 
Here must I stay, here bid the world adieu. 
To me no future day, however bright, 
Can e'er be sweet, or fair the mildest night ; 
But soon, beneath some tree's cold dropping shade, 
My cares in death for ever shall be laid." 

In vain he sought to soothe the stranger's wail, 
With him nor tears, nor pleading could prevail : 
With fairest words brave Hardyknute to gain, 
And reason strong strove courteously in vain. 

Onward again he marched his hostile band, 
Far o'er Lord Chattan's wide extended land; 
When fired by foes to draw his deadly sword, 
Immortal deeds still marked that worthy lord. 
Of Pictish race, by mother's side, he came, 
A race long glorious in the lists of Fame, 
When Picts ruled Caledon, and sought his aid, 
Lord Chattan saved their crown, and claimed the 
princely maid. 

Now with his fierce and formidable train, 
A hill he reached that overlooked the plain, 
Where wide encamped on the dale for fight, 
Norse' glitt'ring army hugely lay in sight. 
" Yonder, my valiant sons ! in haughty state, 
Those raging robbers our arrival wait, 
On Scotia's old, unconquered plains to try 
With us their fate — be victors now or die ! 
Implore that mighty Power with pious faith, 
Who on the cross redeemed our souls from death, 
Then bravely show, amid the war's fierce flood, 
Your veins still glow with Caledonian blood." 
He said, and forth his shining brcad-sword drew, 
While thousands round unsheathed in glorious view, 

13 



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140 Wilson's poems. 

Blazed to the sun, a bright, refulgent throng, 
While loud from wing to wing war horns resounding 
rung. 

Adown the hill, in martial pomp arrayed, 
To meet his king, in haste his march he made. 



Sudden he starts, and hears, or thinks he hears 
The sound of something purring at his heels. 

Blair. 

Man toils a pilgrim through this weary wild, 
This land of serpents, this abode of cares. 
And ah ! what past, what future horrors dire, 
In grim succession start upon his view ! 
Ills, that surveyed by Fancy's staring eye, 
Swell to a size enormous, while the soul, 
O'ercome and fainting at their dread approach, 
Shrinks from herself — anticipates their pangs, 
And sinks beneath imaginary woes. 

Thrice happy he ! beyond expression blest ! 
Who though by fate condemned to ceaseless toils, 
Beneath hard fortune's bleak inclement sky, 
Feels but this moment's pain ! and though he sees 
Advancing clouds of ills, yet still enjoys 
The present sunshine ; hopeful that the storm, 
Though hung in blackest frowns, may soon disperse, 
Or roll unbroken o'er his peaceful head. 

Late through a far extended lonely moor, 
Whose gloomy sides and dark recesses, oft 
Had proved the haunt of midnight ruffians fierce, 
Old Ralph, benighted, trod. A pedlar he, 
Of honest fame ; unlike those ragged swarms, 
That ceaseless pouring from a neighbouring isle, 



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wilson's poems. 141 

On Scotia's shores intrude with baggage, base 
And undeserving as the backs that bear them : 
But sober he and grave, and large the load 
That lay unwieldy on his shoulders wide, 
And stooped him half to earth. A goat's rough skin 
Inwrapt the costly stores. Scissars and combs, 
And knives and laces long ; sharp-pointed awls, 
And pins arranged in many a glittering row ; 
Strong Shetland hose, and woollen night-caps warm ; 
Clasps, bonnets, razors, spectacles, and rings, 
With nameless more, that here the Muse forbears 
To crowd into her strain. But what availed 
This world of wealth ? That failed alas ! to purchase 
A bed of straw for its neglected owner. 
From farm to farm, from cot to cot he strays, 
Imploring shelter from the approaching night, 
And black suspended storm. Full oft he vowed to 

leave 
Whole rows of pins, nor crave one scanty meal. 
Vain were his vows, and sad he trudged, till night 
Descending dreary o'er the darkening waste, 
Concealed each human dwelling from his view, 
Nor ought of sound assailed his listening ear, 
Save the wild shrieks of moor-cock from the hill ; 
Or breeze that whistled mournful o'er the heath. 

The dreadful tales of robbers' bloody deeds, 
That oft had swelled his theme while nightly stretched 
Beside the listening peasant's blazing hearth, 
Now crowded on his mind in all their rage 
Of pistols, purses, stand ! deliver ! death ! 
Trembling he stumbled on, and ever rolled 
His jealous eyes around. Each waving shrub 
Doubled his fears, till, horrible to thought ! 
The sound of hasty steps alarmed his ear, 
Fast hurrying up behind. Sudden he stopt, 
And stooping, could discern, with terror struck, 
i 4 



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142 Wilson's poems. 

Between him and the welkin's scanty light, 

A black gigantic form of human shape, 

And formidably armed. Ah ! who can tell 

The horrors dread that at this instant struck 

Kalph's frozen frame. His few gray reverend hairs 

Rose bristling up, and from his aged scalp, 

Up-bore the affrighted bonnet. Down he dropt 

Beneath the oppressive load, but gathering soon 

A little strength, in desperation crawled 

To reach some neighb'ring shrubs' concealing shade. 

So speeds the hurrying crab, when eager boys 
Uprear the incumbent stone, and bare expose 
Himself and haunt unto the open day. 

Approaching nearer to the bushes' gloom, 
Along the heath, upon his breast, he stole, 
With arms expanded, grasping for his hold : 
As when to gain some herb's inviting leaf, 
The weary snail, supporting her own shell, 
And stretching forth her horns, with searching care 
Moves cautious on. Meantime, scarce had he reach'd 
The o'erhanging furze, when to his startled view 
The stalking form advanced. Huge, huge it seem'd, 
And in its brawny grasp held something black ; 
A bloody sword, no doubt, of dreadful size, 
Before the gloomy spot where Ralphus lay, 
Frowning it stood; andlook'd, and stood, andlook'd; 

And look'd, and stood ! 

As if it sought but one directing glance 

To thunder through his heart the deadly shot. 

With horror petrified the pedlar lay 
Squat on the heath, and shook through every nerve, 
Till nature giving way, with one deep groan, 
At once his senses sunk into a swoon. 
Happy for Ralph, I ween, that at this time 
The soul deserted her endangered clay, 

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wilson's poems. 143 

Ere mighty cries for mercy had revealed 
The spot he held, and forced him to resign 
His purse, his budget, or his precious life. 

How long he lay entranced can ne'er be told 
By human tongue ; yet this we know, that life 
Again revisited his wan, cold corpse, 
And trembled on his lip. The purple tide 
Resumed its wonted course, and to the night 
Again he oped his weary, languid eyes, 
While Recollection, settling on her throne, 
Informed him where he was. Around he threw 
His fearful look upon the dreary waste, 
Where nought was seen to stir except the bent, 
That idly bended to the sighing blast, 
While safe, and resting on his bruised back, 
The bulky budget pressed him to the earth. 
" Good heaven be praised !" with lifted eyes he said, 
" That here my budget lies, and I am safe!" 
So said, he rose, but with him also rose 
Some doubts about his safety. O'er the heath, 
With throbbing breast, he bent his pathless way, 
And long he trod, and oft he gazed around 
For some kind hut to shield him from the night. 
At length, descending a rough, rocky steep, 
A glimmering light from some lone cottage near, 
Beamed en his gladdened view. Soon to the door 
His way he found, and entering, could perceive 
A group assembled round the ruddy hearth. 

Bent o'er the fire a hoary rustic hung, 
Wrinkled with age, and seemed as if he'd been 
The last survivor of the former age. 
Upon the floor, engaged in sportive play, 
Three prattling infants sat ; while, wrapt in peace, 
Their frugal mother plyed the murm'ring wheel. 

To her Ralph straight applied, and wishing peace, 
Besought the shelter of their humble roof, 

I 5 



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144 Wilson's poems. 

To rest till dawn of day his weary limbs, 
Eor far, far distant from each friend he strayed, 
And cold and dreary was the gloomy night. 
The jealous matron for a while surveyed 
His decent form, then pointing to a chest, 
While kind compassion melted in her eye — 
"Repose," she said, "your load, and freely share 
That fare and shelter we ourselves eojoy." 

Scarce had poor Ralph obeyed, and scarce sat down, 
To ponder pensive on the danger past, 
When noise announced some wanderer at the door, 
Soft rose the latch, and instant ushered in 
A feeble, shiv'ring, small decrepid thing ; 
One drooping hand sustained the pond'rous goose, 
Whose level, burning bases oft, alas ! 
Unpitying, scorches the gray wand'ring brood 
That, numerous, lurk amid the enclosing seams, 
A rod the other grasped that served to explore 
His darksome path along the midnight mud, 
Nor failed to act a useful part by day. 

A sound of joy n'ow through the cottage rose ; 
Each laughing infant ran to meet his sire 
With shouts of joy. Aside the matron put 
Her well-worn wheel, and anxiously enquired 
From him the cause of his unusual stay. 
A fear-betokening, wild, expressive look 
He just returned the partner of his cares, 
Then seating softly in his reverend chair, 
With solemn voice and sighing thus began : 
" If ever Satan visited this earth, 
This night, this dreadful night, I have him seen." 
" Heaven be our guide !" exclaimed the trembling 

wife, 
The children crowded nearer to the hearth, 
And while the hoary swain stared in his face, 
The ghostly tailor thus his tale renewed : — 



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wilson's poems. 145 

" Dark was the night ere thro' the rustling wood, 
Groping my way, I gained the level moor ; 
There, as I trod along, methought I heard 
Some rumbling noise before me on the heath, 
As stones confined within a coffin make. 
Approaching nearer, plainly I beheld 
(If e'er these eyes were capable of sight) 
A monstrous rolling bulk, three times as large 
As any ox, that ever grazed the hill ; 
Within my view it kept, till vent 'ring near, 
And stopping short to guess what it might be, 
With two deep groans it vanished from my sight. 

"Feeble as death I fled, and soon I reached 
The cottage on the hill ; but ere my tongue 
Could tell the sad disaster, flat I fell 
Eor dead upon the floor. With much kind care 
They brought me back to life, and these two hours 
There pale I sat, my vigour to regain. 
But never, never shall I e'er dispute 
The dread existence of those wandering fiends ; 
This night these eyes have witnessed such horrors, 
As would have terrified and put to flight 
The priest himself, and boldest man on earth." 

He ceased, and Ralph, with looks that sparkled joy, 
Explained the mystery dread. A burst of mirth, 
In laughter loud, convulsed their every nerve, 
Forth from his shaggy budget Ealphus drew, 
In gleesome mood, his pipes ; the swelling bag 
Awoke the warlike yell and sounding drone, 
The hoary swain sat smiling in his chair, 
Up sprung the host and flung around the floor, 
The wondering youngsters laughed to see their sire, 
And mirth and music echoed through the cot. 



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146 wilson's poems. 



Delivered by the author in the Pantheon, Edinburgh, in a debate 
on the question — " Whether is Diffidence, or the Allurements 
of Pleasure, the greatest bar to the Progress in Knowledge. 

INTRODUCTION. 

Hech ! but it's awfu' like to rise up here, 
Where sic a sight o' learned folks' pows appear ! 
Sae mony piercing een a' fixed on ane, 
Is maist enough to freeze me to a stane ! 
But it's a mercy — mony thanks to fate, 
Pedlars are poor, but unco seldom blate. 

(Speaking to the President.) 

This question, sir, has been right well disputed, 
And meikle, weel-a-wat's been said about it : 
Chiels, that precisely to the point can speak, 
And gallop o'er lang blauds of kittle Greek, 
Ha'e sent frae ilka side their sharp opinion, 
And peeled it up as ane wad peel an ingon. a 

I winna plague you lang wi' my poor spale, 
But only crave your patience to a tale : 
By which yell ken on whatna side I'm stannin', 
As I perceive your hindmost minute's rinnin'. 

THE TALE. 

There lived in Eife, an auld, stout, warldly chiei, 
Wha's stomach kend nae fare but milk and meal ; 
A wife he had, I think they ca'd her Bell, 
And twa big sons, amaist as heigh 's himseP. 
Kab was a gleg, smart cock, with powdered pash ; 
Ringan, a slow, feared, bashfu', simple hash. 

a The question had been spoken upon both sides before this 
tale was recited, which was the last opinion given on the debate. 



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wilson's poems. 147 

Baith to the college gaed. At first spruce Rab, 
At Greek and Latin, grew a very dab : 
He beat a' round about him, fair and clean, 
And ilk ane courted him to be their frien' ; 
Frae house to house they harled him to dinner, 
But cursed poor Ringan for a hum-drum sinner. 

Rab talked now in sic a lofty strain, 
As though braid Scotland had been a' his ain ; 
He ca'd the kirk the church, the yirth the globe, 
And changed his name, forsooth, frae Rab to Bob. 
Whare'er ye met him, flourishing his rung, 
The haill discourse was murdered wi' his tongue. 
On friends and faes wi' impudence he set, 
And rammed his nose in every thing he met. 

The college now, to Rab, grew douf and dull, 
He scorned wi' books to stupify his skull ; 
But whirled to plays and balls, and sic like places, 
And roared awa' at fairs and kintra races : 
Sent hame for siller frae his mother Bell, 
And caft a horse, and rade a race himsel' ; 
Drank night and day, and syne, when mortal fu', 
Rowed on the floor, and snored like ooy sow ; 
Lost a' his siller wi' some gambling sparks, 
And pawned, for punch, his Bible and his sarks ; 
Till, driven at last to own he had eneugh, 
Gaed hame a' rags to haud his father's pleugh. 

Poor hum-drum Ringan played anither part, 
For Ringan wanted neither wit nor art : 
Of niony a far-aff place he kent the gate ; 
Was deep, deep learned, but unco, unco blate. 
He kend how mony mile 'twas to the moon, 
How mony rake wad lave the ocean toom ; 
Where a' the swallows gaed in time of snaw ; 
What gars the thunders roar, and tempests blaw ; 

— • -Q 



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148 Wilson's poems. 

Where lumps o' siller grow aneath the grun', 
How a' this yirth rows round about the sun ; 
In short, on books sae meikle time he spent, 
Ye cou'dna speak o' aught, but Ringan kent. 

Sae meikle learning wi' sae little pride, 
Soon gained the love o' a' the kintra side ; 
And Death, at that time, happening to nip aff 
The parish minister — a poor dull calf, 
Ringan was sought — he cou'dna' say them nay, 
And there he's preaching at this very day. 



Now, Mr. President, I think 'tis plain, 
That youthfu' diffidence is certain gain. 
Instead of blocking up the road to knowledge, 
It guides alike, in commerce or at college ; 
Struggles the bursts of passion to controul, 
Feeds all the finer feelings of the soul ; 
Defies the deep laid stratagems of guile, 
And gives even innocence a sweeter smile ; 
Ennobles all the little worth we have, 
And shields our virtue even to the grave. 

How vast the difF'rence then, between the twain, 
Since pleasure ever is pursued by pain. 
Pleasure's a syren, with inviting arms, 
Sweet is her voice and powerful are her charms ; 
Lured by her call we tread her flowery ground, 
Joy wings our steps and music warbles round; 
Lulled in her arms we lose the flying hours, 
And lie embosomed 'midst her blooming bowers, 
Till — armed with death, she watches our undoing, 
Stabs while she sings, and triumphs in our ruin. 



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wilson's poems. 149 

A TALE. 

We dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake. 

Pope. 

Keen the frosty winds were blawing, 

Deep the snaw had wreathed the ploughs, 

Watty, wearied a' day sawing, 
Daunert down to Mungo Blue's. 

Dryster Jock was sitting cracky, 

Wi' Pate Tamson o' the Hill, 
" Come awa'," quo' Johnny, " Watty! 

Haith we'se hae^anither gill." 

Watty glad to see Jock Jabos, 

And sae mony neibours roun' ; 
Kicket frae his shoon the snawba's, 

Syne ayont the fire sat down. 

Owre a broad fid' bannocks heapet, 
Cheese^and stoups, and glasses stood ; 

Some were roaring/ithers sleepit, 
Ithers quietly chewt their cude. 

Jock was^selling Pate some tallow, 

A' the rest a racket hel', 
A' but Watty, wha, poor fallow ! 

Sat and smoke t by himsel'. 

Mungo filled him up a toothfu', 
Drank his health and Meg's in ane, 

Watty, puffing out a mouthfu', 
Pledged him wi' a dreary grane. 

"What's the matter, Watty, wi' you? 

Trouth your chafts are fa'ing in ! 
Something's wrang — I'm vexed to see you — 

Gudesake ! but ye're desperate thin !" 

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150 wilson's poems. 

" Ay," quo' Watty, "things are altered, 
But it's past redemption now, 

L — d ! I wish I had been haltered 
When I married Maggy Howe ! 

I've been poor, and vexed, and raggy, 
Tried wi' troubles no that sma' ; 

Them I bore — but marrying Maggy 
Laid the cap-stane o' them a'. 

Night and day she's ever yelping, 
With the weans she ne'er can gree, 

When she's tired with perfect skelping, 
Then she flees like fire on me. 

See ye, Mungo ! when shell clash on 
With her everlasting clack, 

Whiles I've had my neive in passion, 
Liftet up to break her back !" 

" O, for gudesake, keep frae cufFets !" 
Mungo shook his head and said, 

" Weel I ken what sort of life it's ; 
Ken ye, Watty, how I did ? — 

After Bess and I were kippled, 
Soon she grew like ony bear, 

Brak' my shins, and when I tippled, 
Harl't out my very hair. 

For a wee I quietly knuckled, 
But whan naething would prevail, 

Up my claes and cash I buckled, 
Bess, for ever fare-ye-weel. 

Then her din grew less and less aye, 
Hath I gart her change her tune, 

Now a better wife than Bessy 
Never stept in leather shoon. 



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WILSON S POEMS. lol 

Try this, Watty — when you see her 

Raging like a roaring flood, 
Swear that moment that yell lea' her, 

That's the way to keep her good." 

Laughing, sangs, and lasses' skirls, 

Echoed now out-through the roof, 
"Done !" quo' Pate, and syne his erls 

Nailed the Dryster's wauked loof. 

In the thrang of stories telling, 

Shaking hauns, and ither cheer, 
Swith ! a chap comes on the hallan, 

" Mungo, is our Watty here?" 

Maggy's weel kent tongue and hurry, 

Darted through him like a knife, 
Up the door flew — like a fury 

In came Watty's scawling wife. 

" Nasty, gude-for-naething being ! 

O ye snuffy, drucken sow ! 
Bringing wife and weans to ruin, 

Drinking here wi' sic a crew ! 

Devil nor your legs were broken, 

Sic a life nae flesh endures, 
Toiling like a slave to sloken 

You, ye dyvor, and your whores. 

Rise, ye drucken beast o' Bethel, 

Drink's your night and day's desire : 
Rise, this precious hour, or faith I'll 

Fling your whiskey i' the fire !" 

Watty heard her tongue unhallowed, 

Payed his groat wi' little din, 
Left the house, while Maggy fallowed, 

Plyting a' the road behin'. 

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152 Wilson's poems. 

Eowk frae every door came lamping, 

Maggy curst them ane and a'; 
Clappet wi' her hands, and stamping, 

Lost her bauchles i' the sna'. 

Hame, at length, she turned the gavel, 

Wi' a face as white's a clout, 
Raging like a very devil, 

Kicking stools and chairs about. 

" Ye'll sit wi' your limmers round you, 

Hang you, sir ! I'll be your death ; 
Little hauds my hands confound you, 

But I'll cleave you to the teeth." 

Watty, wha, 'midst this oration, 
Eyed her whiles, but durstna speak, 

Sat like patient Resignation, 
Trembling by the ingle cheek. 

Sad his wee drap brose he sippet, 

Maggy's tongue gaed like a bell, 
Quietly to his bed be slippet, 

Sighing aften to himsel'. 

" Nane are free frae some vexation, 

Ilk ane has his ills to dree ; 
But through a' the hale creation 

Is a mortal vext like me?" 

A' night lang he rowt and gaunted, 

Sleep or rest he couldna' tak ; 
Maggy aft wi' horror haunted, 

Mum'ling started at his back. 

Soon as e'er the morning peepit, 

Up raise Watty, waefu' chiel, 
Kist his weanies while they sleepet, 

Waukened Meg, and sought farewell. 

O =■== - =============^©1 



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wilson's poems. 153 

"Farewell, Meg! — and, O ! may Heaven 

Keep you aye within his care : 
Watty's heart ye've lang been grievin', 

Now he'll never fash you mair. 

Happy cou'd I been beside you, 

Happy, baith at morn and e'en : 
A' the ills did e'er betide you, 

Watty aye turned out your frien'. 

But ye ever like to see me 

Yext and sighing, late and air : 
Farewell, Meg ! I've sworn to lea' thee, 

So thou'll never see me mair." 

Meg, a' sabbing, sae to lose him, 

Sic a change had never wist, 
Held his hand close to her bosom, 

While her heart was like to burst. 

" O my Watty, will ye lea' me, 

Frien'less, helpless, to despair ! 
O ! for this ae time forgi'e me : 

Never will I vex you mair." 

" Ay ! ye've aft said that, and broken 

A' your vows ten times a-week, 
No, no, Meg ! see, there's a token 

Glittering on my bonnet cheek. 

Owre the seas I march this morning, 

Listed, tested, sworn and a', 
Forced by your confounded girning — 

Farewell, Meg! for I'm awa'." 

Then poor Maggy's tears and clamour 

Gushed afresh, and louder grew, 
While the weans, wi' mournfu' y amour, 

Round their sabbing mother flew. 



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<§) @ 

154 Wilson's poems. 

"Through the yirth I'll waunner wi' you — 

Stay, O Watty ! stay at hame ; 
Here, upon my knees, I'll gi'e you 

Ony vow ye like to name. 

See your poor young lammies pleadin', 

Will ye gang and break our heart ? 
No a house to put our head in, 

]STo a friend to take our part !" 

Ilka word came like a bullet, 

Watty's heart begoud to shake ; 
On a kist he laid his wallet, 

Dighted baith his een and spake. 

" If ance mair I cou'd by writing, 

Lea' the sogers and stay still, 
Wad you swear to clrap your flyting?" 

" Yes, O Watty, yes, I will." 

" Then," quo' Watty, " mind, be honest; 

Aye to keep your temper strive ; 
Gin ye break this dreadfu' promise, 

Never mair expect to thrive. 

Marget Howe, this hour ye solemn 

Swear by every thing that's gude, 
Ne'er again your spouse to seal' him, 

While life warms your heart and blood. 

That ye'll ne'er in Mungo's seek me, 

Ne'er put drucken to my name, 
Never out at e'ening steek me, 

Never gloom when I come hame. 

That ye'll ne'er, like Bessy Miller, 

Kick my shins or rug my hair, 
Lastly, I'm to keep the siller ; 

This upon your saul you swear?" 

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Wilson's poems. 155 

" O — h !" quo' Meg ; " aweel," quo' Watty, 

" Farewell ! faith I'll try the seas :" 
" O stand still," quo' Meg, and grat aye ; 

" Ony, ony way ye please." 

Maggy syne, because he prest her, 

Swore to a' thing owre again : 
Watty lap, and danced, and kist her ; 

Wow ! but he was wondrous fain. 

Down he threw his staff victorious ; 

Aff gaed bonnet, claes, and shoon ; 
Syne below the blankets, glorious, 

Held anither Hinney-Moon ! 



Princes and peers may flourish or may fade ; 
A breath can make them, as a breath hath made : 
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 
When once destroyed can never be supplied. 

Deserted Village. 

Aloft on the verge of the wide stormy flood, 

The Genius of Britain disconsolate stood, 

Fast heaved her sad heart, while she gazed down 

beneath, 
On armies, and navies, and victims of death ; 
Her best sons departing beneath every sail, 
And War's loud'ning shrieks rising fast on the gale ; 
Joy cheered not her bosom, hope soothed her no more, 
And thus in deep grief she was heard to deplore. 

" Far fled from my country, where woes never 
cease, 
Far fled are the comforts and presence of Peace, 
Slow, mournfully rising, with tears in her eye, 
I saw the sweet goddess ascending on high ; 



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156 wilson's poems. 

Hope, commerce, and wealth followed sad in her train, 
And pity, that soothes the deep sorrows of pain, 
All fled from the heart-sinking battle's loud roar, 
And lost, amid horrors, I saw them no more. 

why from my shores were they forced to depart ? 
What arm can the scourge cf destruction avert ? 
'Midst famine, and slaughter, must Britons still 

mourn ? 
Will peace, precious peace, to our isle ne'er return ? 
Alas ! when the madness of party is past, 
When we with our country lie murdered and waste, 
She then, when the dread devastation is o'er, 
May come — but will smile on the prospect no more. 

Blest Peace ! best companion of mortals below, 
Fair daughter of Heaven, sweet soother of woe, 
Thou kind nurse of science, art's glory and boast, 

how art thou banished, neglected, and lost ; 
No ray left of hope to point out thy return ; 
No comfort, but long thy departure to mourn ; 
While want is wild heard round each dwelling to 

growl, 
And dark hopeless misery sinks deep o'er each soul. 

What eye without tears can the ruin survey, 
That wide o'er my country fast urges its way ; 
The huge domes of industry, reared in such haste, 
Unfinished, and useless, lie dreary and waste. 
Sore harassed and worn with despondence and care, 
The poor manufacturer yields to despair ; 
Discharges his workmen, in misery to wail, 
And sinks 'mid the comfortless glooms of a jail. 

Down yonder rough beach, where the vessels attend, 

1 see the sad emigrants slowly descend, 
Compelled by the weight of oppression and woe, 
Their kindred, and native, and friends to forego. 



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Wilson's poems. 157 

In these drooping crowds that depart every day, 
I see the true strength of the state glide away ; 
"While countries, that hail the glad strangers to shore, 
Shall flourish when Britain's proud pomp is no more. 

Her towns are unpeopled, her commerce decayed, 
And shut up are all her resources of trade ; 
The starving mechanic, bereaved of each hope, 
Steals pensively home from his desolate shop ; 
Surveys with an anguish words ne'er can express. 
The pale sighing partner of all his distress, 
While round them, imploring, their little ones meet, 
And crave from their mother a morsel to eat. 

From weeping relations, regardlessly torn, 
Her unthinking youths to the battle are borne ; 
There, trained amid slaughter and ruin to wade, 
They toil in the heart-steeling, barbarous trade. 
What crowds, hurried on by the terrible call, 
Pale, ghastly, and blood-covered carcases fall ; 
Earth heaves with the heaps, still resigning their 

breath, 
And friends, foes, and kindred, lie wallowing in death, 

Ah, were they but doomed to one misery to yield, 
But nameless, alas, are the deaths of the field ; 
Grim hallow-eyed Famine bereaves them of bread, 
And scarce can the living deposit their dead. 
By hardships, disease, and an inclement sky, 
In thousands they sicken, and languish, and die, 
Unpitied, and cast amid heaps of the brave, 
With scarce one companion to sigh o'er their grave. 

Old Ocean, that bore home her treasures from far, 
Now growls with the thunder and horrors of war ; 
There plunderers, licensed to murder and prey, 
Bear half of our riches, unquestioned, away ; 

k3 



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158 Wilson's poems. 

While towering in terrible pomp o'er the main, 
The bulwarks of Britain are roaving in vain, 
In search of acquirements that (justly to rate) 
But serve to depress and embarrass the state. 

"From India's wide-spreading, remote, sultry shore, 
The long absent seaman steers homeward once more ; 
Encounters, unwearied, the waves and the gale, 
His dear smiling wife, and his children to hail. 
But never, alas, shall the poor friendless train 
Behold their beloved benefactor again ; 
In sight of his country he's dragged forth anew, 
And England for ever recedes from his view. 

" These woes, horrid War ! thou unmerciful fiend ! 
These woes are the shades that thy footsteps attend. 
Aroused by the call of Ambition and Pride, 
Thou wakes, and the earth with destruction is dyed. 
The red blazing city enlight'ning the air, 
The shrieks of distraction — the groans of despair — 
Remorseless as hell thou behold' st with delight, 
While Pity, far distant, turns pale at the sight. 

" Shall then such a monster, a fiend so accursed, 
By Britons be welcomed, embosomed, and nursed? 
Shall they on whose prudence and mercy we rest, 
Be deaf to the cries of a nation distrest ? 
Yes ! — scorned for a while my poor children may 

mourn, 
Contemned and neglected, depressed and forlorn, 
Till, bursting the bands of oppression, they soar 
Aloft from the dust, to be trampled no more. 

"High o'er Valenciennes, engulphed amid flame, 
(The glory of Gallia, of despots the shame) 
The wide- waving flag of Germania may flow, 
And Tyranny shout o'er the horrors below ; 



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Wilson's poems. 159 

But Liberty, radiant immortal ! looks down 
On millions of heroes whose hearts are her own ; 
Who, sworn her defenders, will stand to their trust, 
When towns yet unconquered are sunk in the dust. 

"When rights are insulted, and justice denied, 
When his country is threatened — his courage defied ; 
When tyrants denounce, and each vassal prepares, 
'Tis then that the soul of the Briton appears ; 
Appears in the stern resolution revealed, 
To rescue his country or sink in the field ; 
Indignant he burns the proud foe to pursue, 
And conquest or death are the objects in view. 
" Were these then the causes that roused us to 

wrath, 
To fury and madness, to uproar and death ? 
Was Britain insulted — was justice refused, 
Her honour, her quiet, or interest abused ? 
Thou Being Supreme ! who, in spite of each art, 
Canst mark undisguised ev'ry thought of the heart, 
Thou know'st the dark motives that urged them full 

well, 
Thouknow'st, and the ghosts of the murdered will tell. 

" O scheme most accursed ! pale Want and Distress 
Called up, the resources of truth to repress. 
A country laid prostrate — starved — butchered each 

day, 
That vultures, unscared, on its vitals may prey. 
Heaven frowns on such madness, that rising divine, 
Aloft the great sun of fair Freedom may shine, 
Bright, blazing, and boundless, till loud every shore 
Resound, that the reign of Corruption is o'er. 

" Soon, soon will the tempest that thunders around, 
This unshielded bosom most fatally wound, 
And soon may the mighty promoters of woe 
Desist, in the dust of submission laid low : 

k4 



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160 wilson's poems. 

But, ah ! what submission, repentance, or pain — 
What treaties can call up the souls of the slain ? 
Can comfort Affliction, or soothe the sad cares 
Of parents, and widows, and orphans in tears ? 

" These shouts that I hear from yon wide western 

plains, 
Where distant Hibernia lies panting in chains ; 
Those pale bleeding corpses thick strewed o'er the 

ground, 
Those law-sanctioned heroes triumphing around ; 
These speak in the voice of the loud roaring flood, 
And write this stern lesson in letters of blood : 
Oppression may prosecute — Force bend the knee, 
But free is that nation that wills to be free. 

" Ye then who imperiously hold it at will, 
The blood and the treasures of Britons to spill, 
While Mis'ry implores — while such dangers impend, 
While all is at stake, oh ! in mercy attend ; 
Let War, the sad source of these sorrows, soon cease, 
And bless a poor land with the comforts of peace : 
Her commerce and credit to heal and restore, 
Or Britain will fade to reflourish no more." 

She ceased ; the sad tribute of tears followed fast, 
While bleak lowered the heavens, and loud rose the 

blast ; 
Ascending in flashes the steep eastern sky, 
The deep-rolling horrors of battle drew nigh ; 
A thick gloomy darkness, of misery and dread, 
Fell dismal, and Britain's lone regions o'erspread, 
And nought could be seen but the lightning's pale 

glow, 
Or heard, but the shrieks and the wailings of woe. 



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wilson's poems. 161 

POETICAL LETTER TO WILLIAM DUNCAN, 
HIS NEPHEW, 

SENECA COUNTY, NEW YORK STATE. 

Here left o'er books and figured slates to pore, 
While you the wilds of Northern woods explore ; 
How wide removed from social converse sweet ! 
How parted ! haply never more to meet. 
Yet, though detained by Fate's superior will, 
My faithful following heart attends you still, 
And borne on Fancy's wings to Northern lakes, 
In all your toils, and all your joys partakes. 
I saw, when full equip t with knapsack load, 
You and your fellow -pilgrim took the road, 
A road immense — yet promised joys so dear, 
That toils, and doubts, and dangers disappear. 
I saw you then, hope sparkled in your eye, 
Pierce the deep wood and scale the mountain high, 
Pass where the Lelu rolls her silver tide, 
Cross nameless brooks, and streams, and rivers wide 
Now down through dismal swamps pursue your way, 
Where pine and hemlocks thick obscure the day, 
Whose mingled tops, an hundred feet in air, 
The clustering nest of swarming pigeons bear ; 
Thence climb the rugged mountain's barren side, 
Where snorting bears through rustling forests glide ; 
Where Wilkesbarre's fertile plains extend in view, 
And far in front the Allegany blue, 
Immensely stretched. While in the vale below 
The painted cots and coloured meadows glow, 
Beyond this little town, 'midst fields of grass, 
With thoughtful hearts the fatal field you pass, 
Where Indian force prevailed, by murder fired, 
And warriors brave, by savage hordes expired. 
Advancing still the river's course you keep, 
And pass the rugged, narrow, dangerous steep. 
Thence vales and mountains rude promiscuous lie, 
And wretched huts disgust the passing eye ; 

K 5 



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162 Wilson's poems. 

Sure sign of sloth within, that will not toil, 

But starves in rags upon the richest soil. 

Through Wilhalvossing now your steps you bend, 

Where numerous herds and pastures rich extend ; 

But hens and sheep here lucklessly decay, 

To wolves and foxes sly a nightly prey. 

High on the steep that near Tioga soars, 

Where deep below the parted river roars, 

With cautious steps and throbbing hearts you go, 

And eye the gulph profound that yawns below, 

Or from the height sublime, around descry 

One waste of woods encircling earth and sky ; 

Now sunk in hoary woods you scour along, 

Rousing the echoes with your jovial song, 

Through scenes where late the sculking Indian trod, 

Adorned with scalps and smeared with infants' blood. 

See Nature's rudest scenes around you rise, 

Observe some ancient trees stupendous size, 

Gaze while the startled deer shoots bounding by, 

And wish the deadly rifle at your eye ; 

Or stop some settler's fertile fields to see, 

And say, so our own fields shall shortly be. 

Ten days of tedious toil and marching past, 

The long-expected scenes appear at last, 

The lake through chequering trees, extended blue — 

Huzza ! huzza ! Old Seneca's in view ; 

With flying hat you hail the glorious spot, 

And every toil and every care's forgot. 

So when of late we plowed the Atlantic waves, 
And left a land of despots and their slaves, 
With hearts o'erjoyed Columbia's shores we spied, 
And gave our cares and sorrows to the tide. 

Still with success may all your toils be blest, 
And this new enterprise crown all the rest. 
Soon may your glittering axe with strength applied 
The circling bark from massy trunks divide. 



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wilson's poems. 163 

Or, wheeled in air, while the deep woods resound, 
Bring crashing forests, thundering to the ground. 
Soon may your fires in flaming piles ascend, 
And girdled trees their wintry limbs extend ; 
Soon may your oxen clear the roots away, 
And give the deep black surface to the clay, 
While fields of richest grain and pasture good, 
Shall wave where Indians strayed and forests stood, 
And as you sweat the rustling sheaves among, 
The adjoining woods shall echo to your song. 

These are the scenes of purest joy below, 
From these health, peace, and independence flow. 
Blest with the purest air and richest soil, 
What generous harvests recompense your toil. 
Here no proud lordling lifts his haughty crest, 
No scoundrel landlord tramples the opprest, 
No thief in black demands his tenth in sheaves, 
But man from God abundantly receives. 
In rustic dress you cheerful range the woods, 
Health makes you gay, and simple manners good. 
Society's whole joys your bosoms know, 
And Plenty's smiling bliss, without its woe. 

Farewell, dear Bill, thy hardy toils pursue ; 
Keep Independence constantly in view ; 
Fear not success. — If one attempt should fail, 
Fate yields when strength and constancy assail. 
Store up thy harvests, sow thy winter grain, 
Prepare thy troughs the maple's juice to drain. 
Then, when the wintry North outrageous blows, 
And nought is seen but one wide waste of snows, 
Ascend the fleeting height, and, like the wind, 
Sweep o'er the snows and leave the woods behind, 
Along the rugged swamp and mountain high, 
'Mid rocks and narrows, make thy horses fly ; 
Shoot o'er the Susquehanna's frozen face, 
And bleak Wyoming's lofty hills retrace, 

L 



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164 wilson's poems. 

Nor let the hunter's hut, or ven'sons stale, 
Or his loved bottle, or his wondrous tale 
Of bears and deer, thy lingering steps detain, 
But swift descend and seek the southern plain. 
Here where the clouds of Philadelphia rise, 
And little Milestone's scattered village lies ; 
Where o'er the road the pointed eagle waves, 
And Ralph's good grog the shivering sinner saves. 
Here shall thy faithful friend, with choicest store 
Of wine and roast-beef, welcome thee once more, 
And friendship's social joys shall crown the whole, 
" The feast of reason, and the flow of soul." 



A TRUE TALE. 



Recited by the Author, in the character of a poor pedlar, in the 
Pantheon, Edinburgh, in the debate onthequestion — "Whether 
is Disappointment in Love, or the Loss of Fortune hardest to 
bear." 

Bout-gates I hate, quo' girning Maggy Pringle, 
Syne harled Watty, greeting, through the ingle. 
Since this fell question seems sae lang to hing on, 
In twa-three words I'll gie ye my opinion. 

I wha stand here, in this bare scoury coat, 
Was ance a packman, wordy mony a groat : 
I've carried packs as big's your meikle table ; 
I've scarted pats, and sleepit in a stable : 
Sax pounds I wadna' for my pack ance ta'en, 
And I could bauldly brag 'twas a' mine ain. 

Aye ! thae were days indeed, that gart me hope, 
Aeblins, through time, to warsle up a shop : 
And as a wife aye in my noddle ran, 
I kend my Kate wad grapple at me than. 
O Kate was past compare ! sic cheeks ! sic een, 
Sic smiling looks, were never, never seen. 



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Wilson's poems. 165 

Dear, dear I lo'ed her, and whane'er we met, 

Pleaded to have the bridal-day but set : 

Stappit her pouches fu' o' prins and laces, 

And thought mysel' weel paid wi' twa three kisses ; 

Yet still she put it afffrae day to day, 

And aften kindly in my lug wad say, 

" Ae half year langer is nae unco stop, 

We'll marry then, and syne set up a shop." 

O, sir, but lasses words are saft and fair, 
They soothe our griefs, and banish ilka care ; 
Wha wadna toil to please the lass he lo'es? 
A lover true minds this in a' he does. 
Finding her mind was thus sae firmly bent, 
And that I couldna get her to relent, 
There was nought left, but quietly to resign, 
To heeze my pack for ae lang hard compaign ; 
And as the Highlands was the place for meat, 
I ventured there in spite of wind and weet. 

Cauld now the Winter blew, and deep the sna' 
For three haill days incessantly did fa'. 
Far in a muir, amang the whirling drift, 
Whar nought was seen but mountains and the lift, 
I lost my road, and wandered mony a mile, 
Maist dead wi' cauld and hunger, fright and toil. 
Thus wand'ring, east or west, I kend na' where, 
My mind o'ercome wi' gloom and black despair, 
Wi' a fell ringe, I plunged at ance, forsooth, 
Down through a wreath o' snaw, up to my mouth. 
Clean o'er my head my precious wallet flew, 
But whar it gaed, Lord kens, I never knew. 

What great misfortunes are pour'd down on some, 
I thought my fearfu' hinder en' was come ; 
Wi' grief and sorrow was my soul o'ercast, 
Ilk breath I drew was like to be my last, 
For aye the mair I warsled round and roun', 
I fand mysel' aye stick the deeper down ; 

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166 Wilson's poems. 

Till ance, at length, wi' a prodigious pull, 
I drew my poor cauld carcase frae the hole. 

Lang, lang I sought, and grappit for my pack, 
Till night and hunger forced me to come back. 
For three lang hours I wandered up and down, 
Till chance, at last conveyed me to a town ; 
There, wi' a trembling hand, I wrote my Kate 
A sad account of a' my luckless fate ; 
But bade her aye be kind, and no despair, 
Since life was left, I soon wad gather mair ; 
Wi' whilk, I hoped, within a towmond's date, 
To be at hame, and share it a' wi' Kate. 

Fool that I was, how little did I think 
That love would soon be lost for fa't o' clink. 
The loss of fair won wealth, though hard to bear, 
Afore this — ne'er had power to force a tear. 
I trusted time wad bring things round again, 
And Kate^ dear Kate, wad then be a' mine ain ; 
Consoled my mind, in hopes o' better luck, 
But, O ! what sad reverse ! — how thunderstruck ! 
When ae black day brought word frae Rab my brither, 
That Kate was cried, and married on anither ! 

Though a' my friends, and ilka comrade sweet, 
At ance, had drapped cauld dead at my feet ; 
Or, though I'd heard the last day's dreadfu' ca\ 
Nae deeper horror on my heart could fa' : 
I cursed mysel', I cursed my luckless fate, 
I grat — and, sobbing, cried — O Kate ! O Kate ! 

Frae that day forth, I never mair did weel, 
But drank, and ran headforemost to the deil. 
My siller vanished, far frae hame I pined, 
But Kate for ever ran across my mind. 
In her were a' my hopes — these hopes were vain, 
And now — I'll never see her like again. 

Twas this, Sir President, that gart me start, 
Wi' meikle grief and sorrow at my heart, 

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wilson's poems. 167 

To gi'e rny vote, frae sad experience, here, 

That disappointed love is waur to bear, 

Ten thousand times, than loss o' warld's gear. 



ADDRESSED TO JOVE, THE GOD OF THUNDER, DURING THE 
LATE HOT WEATHER 

God of thunders ! clouds and rain, 
Hear, nor let us pray in vain ; 
In this sultry hot September, 
Jove, thy worms of earth remember : 
See us panting, blowing, sweating, 
Choked with dust, fatigued and fretting, 
Eoasted up as brown's potatoes, 
Stung by flies, and curst musquetoes ; 
Sleepless nights — for ever turning, 
Drenched in sweat from night to morning, 
Drinking grog to quench the fire, 
Still the more we drink, the drier. 

See our meadows, fields, and pastures, 
Bare and brown as blist'ring plaisters ; 
See our melons, pears, and peaches, 
Shrivelled up like skins of witches : 
Streams and ponds, and creeks a-drying, 
Millers groaning — fishes dying ; 
Frogs extended stiff as pokers, 
Dead, alas — are all the croakers, 
Tenor, treble, bass and chorus, 
Blood and wounds himself no more is. 

See the clouds of dust ascending 
O'er the burning road contending; 
There the wet and foaming steed, 
Panting lashed to cruel speed, 
Feels in ev'ry vein the fires, 
Staggers, tumbles, and expires. 

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168 wilson's poems. 

See these strangers faint and sweating, 
Landed from the shores of Britain, 
(Blessed shores ! where temp'rate gales, 
Health and verdure never fails ; 
Bound whose airy cliffs, sea-driven, 
Sweeps the purest breath of Heaven :) 
See them clad in coats of woollen, 
Panting for some shade to cool in, 
Looking round with restless gaze, 
Through the sultry sick'ning blaze j 
On each parched field they meet, 
With'ring in the torrid heat, 
With a sigh — that fate should lead 'em 
To such burning shores of freedom. 

See our cits with tun-like bellies, 
Melted down almost to jellies ; 
See our mowers — mason-tenders, 
See our smiths, like salamanders. 
See — but, gracious Pow'r, forgive us, 
Thou see'st all, and can'st relieve us ; 
God of thunders, clouds, and rain, 
Hear, nor let us pray in vain, 
Prom the wat'ry western regions, 
Call thy clouds in gloomy legions, 
Tow'ring, thick'ning, moving horrid, 
O'er the day's affrighted forehead, 
Swift athwart the low'ring deep, 
Sudden let the lightning sweep, 
Loud the bursting thunders roar, 
Plashes blaze, and torrents pour, 
Dark'ning — blazing — roaring— pouring — 
Till this earth has got a scouring, 
Till each stream, and creek, and current, 
Swells and roars a raging torrent, 
Till each freshened field, and every 
Hill and dale, wear Nature's livery, 

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wilson's poems. 169 

And cool buxom breezes winnow, 
Bracing ev'ry nerve and sinew. 

God of thunders, clouds, and rain I 
Hear ! nor let us pray in vain, 
And till age has made us hoary, 
Thine shall be the praise and glory. 



$e,$mto fen @w «nr. 

From Milestown's fertile fields and meadows clear, 
I hail my worthy friend with heart sincere, 
And welcome — nay, most pressingly implore, 
One friendly visit to my cot once more. 

The fairest scenes that ever blessed the year, 
Now o'er our lawns, and woods, and meads appear ; 
The richest harvests choke each loaded field, 
The fairest fruit our growing orchards yield. 
In green, and gold, and purple plumes arrayed, 
The sweetest songsters chant from every shade. 
Such boundless plenty, such luxuriant stores, 
The rosy hand of Nature round us pours, 
That every living tribe their powers employ 
From morn to eve to testify their joy, 
And pour from meadow, field, and air above, 
One general song of gratitude and love. 

Come then, dear Orr, the noisy town forsake, 
With me a while these rural joys partake, 
Forget your books, your pens, your studious cares, 
Come see the gifts that God for man prepares. 
Here, as with me, at morn you range the wood, 
Or headlong plunge amid the sparkling flood, 
More vig'rous life your firmer limbs shall brace, 
A ruddier glow shall wanton o'er your face, 
A brighter glance re-animate your eye, 
Each anxious thought, each fretting care shall fly. 



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170 Wilson's poems. 

For here, thro' glades, and every rustling grove, 
Sweet peace and rosy health for ever rove ; 
For you my vines their clustering fruits suspend, 
My pinks and roses blow but for my friend — 
For him who joins with elegance and art, 
The brightest talents to the warmest heart. 

Come then, O come, your burning streets forego, 
Your lanes and wharfs, where winds infectious blow, 
For deep majestic woods and opening glades, 
And shining pools and awe-inspiring shades, 
Where fragrant flowers perfume the air around, 
And bending orchards kiss the flowery ground, 
And luscious berries spread a feast for Jove, 
And golden cherries stud the boughs above. 
Amidst these various sweets, thy rustic friend 
Shall to each woodland haunt thy steps attend, 
His noontide walks, his vine entwisted bowers, 
The old associates of his lonely hours, 
While friendship's converse, generous and sincere, 
That mingles joy with joy, and tear with tear, 
Shall fill each heart, and give to memory's eye 
Those native shores where fond relations sigh, 
Where war accursed, and haggard famine howl, 

And 11 D o'er prostrate millions growl, 

While we, alas, these mournful scenes retrace, 
In climes of plenty, liberty, and peace, 
A mingled flood of joy and grief shall flow, 
For this so free, and that so full of woe. 

Thus, in celestial bowers, the heavenly train 
Escaped from earth's dark ills and all its pain, 
Talk o'er our scenes of suffering here below, 
And drop a tear of pity for our woe. 



f 



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I 
WILSONS' POEMS. 171 

Ye hoary rocks, ye woody cliffs that rise 
Unwieldy, jutting o'er the brawling brook; 

Ye lowering steeps, where hid the adder lies, 
Where sleeps the owl and screams the sable rook. ' 

Ye reverend trunks, that spread your leafy arms 
To shield the gloom that dark'ning swells below ; 

Ye nameless flowers, ye busy-winged swarms ; 
Ye birds that warble and ye streams that flow. 

Say, ye blest scenes of solitude and peace, 
Strayed e'er a bard along this hermit shore ? 

Did e'er his pencil your perfections trace ? 
Or did his Muse to sing your beauties soar ? 

Hast oft at early morn and silent eve, 

Responsive echo stole athwart the trees ; 
While easy laid beside the glitt'ring wave* 

The shepherd sang, his listening fair to please ? 

Alas ! methinks the weeping rocks around, 
And the lone stream that murmurs far below* 

And trees and caves, with hollow, solemn sound. 
Breathe out one mournful, melancholy — No. 



Thou curious* droll* auld-farran chiel, 

Some rhyme I'se now hae with thee- 
May I gang hurlin' to the deil, 

But I'd be blythe to see thee. 
'Mang a' the chiels wha bear a pack, 

Through kintra, town, or claughan, 
The fient a ane can tell a crack, 

Whilk sets us aye a laughin', 

Like thee, this day. 



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172 wilson's poems. 

A snawy winter's now maist ower, 

Since we frae other parted ; 
Like ony gliaist I then did glower, 

Wi' sickness — broken hearted. 
But, by my sang ! now gin we meet, 

We'll hae a tramp right clever. 
Since I'm now stively on my feet, 

And hale an' weel as ever, 

This blessed day. 

Whiles when I think upon our tramp, 

It sets me aft a sneering ; 
Though 'deed our conscience it should damp, 

When we ca' to a clearing ; 
How whiles, amang the lasses' smocks, 

We raised an unco splutter, 
On Sundays, speelt ower awfu' rocks, 

Or ramed auld grannie's butter, 
I' the plate yon day. 

I'll ne'er forget yon dreadfu' morn, 

That maist had proved our ruin, 
When ye sat on a sack forlorn, 

Half dead with fright, and spewin. 
Waves dashing down wi' blatterin' skyle, 

Winds roarin' — sailors fighting ; 
Poor wretches bockin, rank and file, 

And some — God knows ! — maist sh — ing 
Their breeks, that day ! 

Though conscience's gab we try to steek, 

It gies us whiles a tastle ; 
I'm cheated gin it didna speak, 

Right smartly at Fa's Castle. 
Poor jute ! she'd curse our ilka stop, 

When she tauld ower her siller ; 



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wilson's poems. 173 

But, faith ! she got an honest kepp, 
Might served a decent miller, 

Sax years and mair. 

Lang may thou, aye right snug and dry, 

Frae barns be kept aback, 
Where tinkled wives, and beggars lie, 

And rain seeps through the thack. 
Aft may some canty kintra wife, 

When hunger wrings your painches, 
Draw through her cheese the muckle knife, 

And stap thy pouch wi' lunches 
O' scons, that day. 



A TALE. 

What rising passions through my bosom range, 
When beauteous Susan sings the " Moor's Revenge;" 
Thus runs the tale. — " Far from the noisy court, 
'Midst lonely woods, was wealthy Don's resort. 
A worthy lady blest his generous arms, 
And two young boys, with all their winning charms, 
Possessed of these, and of each other's hearts, 
They scorned the world and all its cheating arts. 
Domestic cares, her lord, her smiling boys, 
Where all her pride, the source of all her joys; 
His, through wild woods, to hunt the leopard fleet, 
Bear home the spoils and lay them at her feet. 

When morning rose, equipt he coursed the plain, 
And sought the chase, a Moor his only train, 
Him from dire chains his master's bounty freed, 
Behind his lord to curb the stately steed. 
Indulged in sloth, the gloomy villain grew 
Each day more heedless and more haughty too. 
He now e'en dares his orders to deride ; 
His lord rebuked him, and chastised his pride. 



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174 Wilson's poems. 

With madd'ning rage his sparkling eye-balls roll, 
And black revenge employs his furious soul. 

High on a rock, amid the gloomy wood, 
Secure from foes their ancient castle stood ; 
A wide, deep moat, around the fabric soaked, 
And strong high walls the midnight robber mocked ; 
One path alone led to its dizzy height, 
By day a bridge, a bolted gate by night. 

One morn, as forth they took their early road, 
And through dark vales and deep'ning forests trod, 
Urged by revenge, the Moor back sudden springs, 
Secures the gate, and forth the children brings. 
His lord alarmed, spurs swiftly o'er the plain, 
Fast finds the gate, and views with shuddering pain 
His beauteous babes, from their fond mother tore, 
Dashed down the rock, and reeking in their gore ; 
While his fair spouse, beneath a lifted knife, 
In loud lamentings deep implored for life. 
6 Thou fury, stop !' the raving husband cries ; — 
* I scorn thy threats,' the infernal Moor replies ; 
' A blow thou gave — now for thy rashness feel ;' 
Then in her breast he plunged the deadly steel, 
And bounding headlong down the impervious rock, 
His mangled cor'se in bloody fragments broke." 



While ye nod on the weavers' thronie, 

Poring wi' sharp inspection, 
Or in a freak wi' lassies bonnie, 

Skip round in supple action ; 
Or maybe wi' a bosom crony, 

Kick up a funny faction, 
Accept this as a testimony 

Of my sincere affection 

For you this day. 



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Wilson's poems. 175 

In fact, my friend, I would hae writ, 

Lang ere this time wi' pleasure, 
But something touched aye on my fit, 

And bade me take my leisure. 
Yon Callan's sic a pawkie wit, 

Gif he but make a seizure 
0' ae daft word, ye'll git a skit 

Will wring your head as bees were 
In't, thick this day. 

Sae aft the pen I laid aside, 

Wi' this bugbear reflection, 
As aft my heart would fairly chide 

Me for the harsh objection. 
Till just this day, within I staid, 

And baud wi' baul' affection, 
Though you should cut and ga' my hide 

Wi' critical dissection, 

I'd write this day. 
Sae paper, pen, and ink I got, 

And down to wark I set me, 
And soon a lengthened sang I wrote, 

For mirth the lines did mete me. 
I 'ssayed ance to cast off my coat, 

The thoughts o't had sae het me, 
But, as my brain was on the trot, 

The hurry wouldna let me 

Take time this day. 
Aweel, whene'er I got it done, 

I took a canny view o't, 
Where notes rose towerin' to the moon, 

That, trouth, I scarcely knew it. 
'Twas set to sic a skerlin' tune, 

I heartily did rue it, 
And least ye should e'en laugh ower soon, 

Dash i' the fire I threw it, 

Wi' rage that day. 
l3 
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176 wilson's poems. 

Yet still resolved something to sen', 

I didna staun to swither, 
But duket i' the ink my pen, 

And so began anither. 
Nae poetry, but just the ken 

O' Scotland, my auld mither, 
In hopes I wouldna you offen', 

By jinglin' it thegither 

In rhyme this day. 
Ye ken ye sang auld Harry's fate, 

And 'deed it was e'en curious, 
When at the fire he hunkered late, 

And crooned a prayer spurious ; 
As, " L — d, send us aye garse and meat, 

Till ance thou skin and bury us ;" 
Syne turned his fish, and sent a sklate 

Out through the winnock furious, 
At chiels, this night. 
I ne'er could gab prodigious pert, 

And flatterin' phrazing gie you, 
And laugh, and sing, and crack sae smart, 

Syne wi' dame Fortune lea' you. 
But could you peep into this heart, 

That jumps aye when I see you, 
Ye'd find a saul could gladly part, 

Its hindmaist bannock wi' you, 
On ony day. 
Blithe would I be to shake your han\ 

If matters would allow me, 
But Fortune's ta'en a slippery stan', 

And looks right sullen at me. 
Yet aftentimes the morning's dawn, 

Hangs cloudy, dull, and gloomy, 
Till Sol dispels the misty ban', 

And shines bright, warm, and soony, 
A bonnie day. 



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Wilson's poems. 177 

My compliments I hope you'll gie 

To garrulous Rab G y ; 

Tell him, I trust he bears the gree, 

Aye dadlin' puir and hearty, 
Although I fear the barley bree, 

And rovin' blades sae quirty, 
May gar him speed his wings and flee, 

And leave his nest right dirty, 
Like me yon day. 

Now gies your hand, and fare-ye-weel, 

Kind, honest-hearted Willie ! 
Aye when I meet a canty chiel, 

It minds me o' thee, Billie, 
Wha aften used, wi' heart fu' leel, 

To show his wondrous shillie, 
And made our very hearts to reel, 

When ower a pint or gillie, 

For joy that day. 

Lang may thou weather 't out-and-in 

Without a drug or plaister, 
And may thou tune the violin, 

Aye sweeter and aye faster ; 
And swell and sink the notes sae keen 

Wi' gracefu' air and gesture, 
Till Andrew lift his hands and een, 

And own that Will's his master 
By night or day. 



U W 6 

Dear Willie, now I've ta'en the pen, 
Wi' lightsome heart to let you ken, 

I'm living yet and weel ; 
Though cuist and dauded gayan sair, 

Since last I left that luckless A , 

Through mony a moor and fiel'. 
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178 wilson's poems. 

Misfortunes, on ilk others backs, 
Came roarin' whiles aroun' me ; 
For comfort to the blue I rax, 
Or ablins they might drown me. 
What sights, man, what frights man 

Are pedlars doomed to thole, 
Aye chaunerin' and daunerin' 
In eager search for cole / a 

But let us cease this heartless sang, 
And, gin you binna unco thrang, 

I'll here lay down my pack, 
Though miles in scores atween us lie, 
And hills, and seas, yet haith we'll try 

Out ower them a' to crack. 
Dame Fortune, thou may hing thy brow, 

And girn wi' threat'nin' een , 
I carena a' thy spite, since now, 
At last, I've found a frien'. 
Let misers ower treasures, 
O' goud and siller croon ; 
A blessing like this ane, 
Gangs never — never down. 

While youth and health inspires our blood, 
In innocent and sprightly mood, 

We'll cheat the cares of life ; 
By friendship sowethert into ane, 
Well be as firm, as stark again, 

To stand the worldly strife. 
And when slee love's endearing dart 

Inflames our glowing veins, 
We'll thowe the bonnie lassies' heart 

In saft complaining strains ; 
Nae sorrows, before us, 
Shall drive us to despair, 



A cant word for money. 



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© © 

wilson's poems. 179 

Though carefu', yet cheerfu', 
We'll woo the smiling fair. 
But if, alas ! it hap that e'er 
A flaw in friendship should appear, 

Through passion, or mistake, 
Oh ! never, never let us part, 
Wi' hate or envy in our heart, 
Curst, base revenge to take ! 
But strive, wi' kind relenting speech, 

Upon the very spot, 
To mend the mournfii' luckless breach, 
And firm the slackened knot : 
Then langer and stranger, 

Our friendship will remain, 
Aye dowin' and glowin' 
Without a crack or stain. 
And when frail eild — if e'er we see't — 
Shall gie us stilts instead o' feet, 

And shake our hingin' pows, 
We'll notch awa' with friendly grane, 
And soss down on yon sunny stane 

Amang the broomy knowes ; 
And soon's our * hechs' and ' heys' are by, 

And baith our rungs laid down, 
And we twa streekit, beekin lie, 
Auld, runkley-faced, and brown ; 
The sportin', the courtin', 

We had, when we were young, 
And wonders, in hunders, 
Shall gallop frae our tongue. 

Perhaps Rob G y's auld grey pate, 

Of dark unfathomed sense the seate, 

May join the social gab ; 
Nae common stilt maun fill his nieve, 
But, by his honour's size and leave, 
I'd here propose a stab, 

L 5 



— -- = ---^ — — -= ®l 

180 Wilson's poems. 

This very height, and on the hilt, 

A gawsey mason's mell, 
To puzzle folk, whilk is the stilt, 
Or whilk is Rob himsel. 
The carle, I'm sure he'll, 

No ha'e his tale to seek, 
Aye puffin', or stuffin', 
Wi' ugsome chews his cheek. 

An epitaph I ance had made, 

To put on Rob, when he were dead ; 

But were't to do again, 
His pardon begging, for sic fun, 
This motto I'd ha'e neatly done, 

Upon the waefu' stane : — 
" Here lies a corpse, this ane could say, — 

What seldom carcase can — 
Tho' here I rot, pale stinking clay, 
I ance contained a man, 
Sae stern-eyed, sae learned, 

That death's arm switherin' hung, 
Till chance by, he lanced my 
Hale saul frae out my tongue." 
My friend, though Fortune — partial slut ! — 
Still holds you in a toilsome hut, 

Yet, if I don't mistake, 
Your modest merit will you raise, 
And Fortune smile yet in your face, 

Your tuneful powers to wake. 
How aften ha'e I at your feet, 

In deepest silence lain, 
While from the strings, harmonious sweet, 
You sent the warbling strain ; 
Even now, man, I vow, man, 
I think I hear you singing, 
The ferl} r , sae rarely, 

Sets baith my ears a ringing. 



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wilson's poems 381 

Adieu ! my kind, my worthy chield ; 
Lang may ye ha'e a cozzy bield, 
To screen frae winter's cauld ; 
May time yet see ye wi' a wame 

As fat as J 's soncy dame, 

Till thretty years thrice tauld, 
And gin we live to see that date, 

As fegs, I hope we will, 
Tho' ye to gang, ha'e tint the gate, 
Yet we shall ha'e a gill. 
Fu' cheery, I'll near ye, 

And 'neath my burden bend, 
And show fouk, without joke, 
What its to ha'e a friend. 



Wttf Jlditairg Unite, 

Whoe'er across the Schuylkill's winding tide, 
Beyond Gray's Ferry half a mile has been, 
Down at a bridge, built hollow, must have spied, 
A neat stone school-house on a sloping green ; 
There tufted cedars scattered round are seen, 
And stripling poplars planted in a row ; 
Some old grey white oaks overhang the scene, 
Pleased to look down upon the youths below, 
Whose noisy noontide sports no care or sorrow know. 

On this hand rise the woods, in deepening shade, 
Resounding with the sounds of warblers sweet ; 
And there a waving sign-board hangs displayed 
From mansion fair, the thirsty soul's retreat : 
There way-worn pilgrims rest their weary feet. 
When noontide heats or evening shades prevail ; 
The widow's fare still plentiful and neat, 
Can nicest guest deliriously regale, 
And make his heart rejoice the Sorrel Horse to hail. 
M 



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182 wilson's poems. 

Adjoining this, old Vulcan's shop is seen, 
Where winds and fires, and thumping hammers 

roar, 
White washed without, but black enough within, 
Emblem of modern patriots many a score ; 
The restive steed impatient at the door, 
Starts at his thundering voice, and brawny arm, 
While yellow Jem with horse tail fans him o'er, 
Drawing aloof, the ever-buzzing swarm, 
Whose shrill blood sucking pipes his restless fears 

alarm. 

An ever- varying scene the road displays, 

With horsemen, thundering stage, and stately 

team, 
Now burning with the sun's resplendent rays, 
Now lost in clouds of dust the traveller's seen, 
And now a lengthened pond or miry stream, 
Deep sink the wheels, and slow they drag along, 
Journeying to town with butter, apples, cream, 
Fowls, eggs, and fruit, in many a motley throng, 
Cooped in their little carts their various truck among. 

And yonder nestled in enclustering trees, 
Where many a rose bush round the green yard 

glows, 
Walled from the road with seats for shade and ease, 
A yellow fronted cottage, sweetly shows 
The towering poplars rise in spiry rows ; 
And green catalphas, white with branchy flowers, 
Her matron arms, a weeping willow throws 
Wide o'er the dark green grass, and pensive lowers, 
'Midst plumb trees, pillared hops, and honeysuckle 

bowers. 

Here dwells the guardian of these younglings gay, 
A strange, recluse, and solitary wight, 



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wilson's poems. 183 

In Britain's isle, on Scottish mountains gray, 
His infant eyes first opened to the light ; 
His parents saw, with partial fond delight, 
Unfolding genius crown their fostering care, 
And talked with tears of that enrapturing sight, 
When clad in sable gown, with solemn air, 
The walls of God's own house should echo back his 
prayer. 

Dear smiling Hope, to thy enchanting hand, 
What cheering joys, what ecstasies we owe, 
Touched by the magic of thy fairy wand, 
Before us spread, what heavenly prospects glow. 
Thro' life's rough thorny wild we labouring go, 
And, though a thousand disappointments grieve, 
Even from the grave's dark verge we forward throw 
Our straining wishful eyes on those we leave, 
And with their future fame our sinking hearts relieve. 

But soon, too soon, these fond illusions fled, 
In vain they pointed out that pious height ; 
By Nature's strong resistless impulse led, 
These dull dry doctrines ever would he slight ; 
Wild Eancy formed him for fantastic flight, 
He loved the steep's high summit to explore, 
To wateh the splendour of the orient bright, 
The dark deep forest, and the sea-beat shore, 
Where thro' resounding rocks the liquid mountains 
pour. 

When gathering clouds the vaults of heaven o'er- 

spread, 
And opening streams of livid lightning flew, 
From some o'erhanging cliff, the uproar dread, 
Transfixed in rapt'rous wonder, he would view 
When the red torrent, big and bigger grew, 



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184 wilson's poems. 

Or deepening snows, for days obscured the air, 
Still with the storm his transports would renew : 
Koar, pour away, was still his eager prayer, 
While shivering swains around were sinking in de- 
spair. 

That worldly gift, which misers merit call, 
But wise men cunning, and the art of trade, 
That scheming foresight, how to scrape up all, 
How pence may groats, and shillings pounds be 

made, 
As little knew he, as the moorland maid, 
Who ne'er beheld a cottage but her own ; 
Sour Parsimony's words he seldom weighed, 
His heart's warm impulse was the guide alone, 
When suffering friendship sighed, or weeping wretch 

did moan. 

Dear, dear to him, affection's ardent glow, 
Alas ! from all he loved, for ever torn, 
E'en now, as Memory's sad reflections flow, 
Deep grief o'erwhelms him, and he weeps forlorn. 
By hopeless thought, by wasting sorrow worn, 
Around on Nature's scenes he turns his eye, 
Charmed with her peaceful eve, her fragrant morn, 
Her green magnificence, her gloomiest sky, 
That fill th' exulting soul with admiration high. 

One charming nymph with transport he adores, 
Fair Science, crowned with many a figured sign. 
Her smiles, her sweet society implores, 
And mixes jocund with the encircling nine ; 
While Mathematics solve his dark design, 
Sweet Music soothes him with her syren strains, 
Seraphic Poetry, with warmth divine, 
Exalts him far above terrestrial plains, 
And Painting's fairy hand his mimic pencil trains. 

© _z_- — — _= - =■-'© 



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wilson's poems. 185 

Adown each side of his sequestered cot, 
Two bubbling streamlets wind their rocky way, 
And mingling, as they leave this rural spot, 
Down thro' a woody vale, meand'ring stray ; 
Round many a moss-grown rock they dimplin play, 
Where laurel thickets clothe the steeps around, 
And oaks, thick towering, quite shut out the day, 
And spread a venerable gloom profound, 
Made still more sweetly solemn by the riv'let's sound. 

Where down smooth glistering rocks it rambling 

pours, 
Till in a pool its silent waters sleep, 
A dark brown cliff, o'er t opt with fern and flowers, 
Hangs grimly frowning o'er the glassy deep ; 
Above, thro' every chink, the woodbines creep, 
And smooth barked beeches spread their arms 

around, 
Whose roots cling, twisted, round the rocky steep. 
A more sequestered scene is no where found, 
For contemplation deep, and silent thought profound. 

Here many a tour the lonely tutor takes, 
Long known to Solitude his partner dear ; 
For rustling woods, his empty school forsakes, 
At morn, still noon, and silent evening clear. 
Wild Nature's scenes amuse his wanderings here, 
The old grey rocks, that overhang the stream, 
The nodding flowers that on their peaks appear, 
Plants, birds, and insects, are a feast to him, 
Howe'er obscure, deformed, minute, or huge they 
seem. 

Sweet rural scenes ! unknown to poet'? song, 
Where Nature's charms in rich profusion lie, 
Birds, fruits, and flowers, an ever-pleasing throng, 
Denied to Britain's bleak and northern sky. 

M 2 

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186 wilson's poems. 

Here Freedom smiles serene with dauntless eye, 
And leads the exiled stranger thro' her groves, 
Assists to sweep the forest from on high, 
And gives to man the fruitful field he loves, 
Where proud imperious lord, or tyrant, never roves. 

In these green solitudes one favourite spot, 
Still draws his lone slow wanderings that way, 
A mossy cliff, beside a little grot, 
Where two clear springs burst out upon the day ; 
There, overhead, the beechen branches play, 
And from the rock, the clustered columbine, 
While, deep below, the brook is seen to stray 
O'erhung with alders, briar, and mantling vine, 
While on th' adjacent banks the glossy laurels shine. 

Here Milton's heavenly themes delight his soul, 
Or Goldsmith's simple heart-bewitching lays, 
Now drives with look around the frozen pole, 
Or follows Bruce, with marvel and amaze. 
Perhaps Rome's splendour sadly he surveys, 
Or Britain's scenes of cruelty and kings, 
Thro' Georgia's groves with gentle Bartram strays, 
Or mounts with Newton on archangel's wings, 
With manly Smollet laughs, and jovial Dibdin siDgs. 

The air serene, and breathing odours sweet, 
The sound of falling streams and humming bees, 
Wild choirs of songsters round his rural seat, 
To souls like his have every power to please. 
The shades of night, with rising sigh he sees 
Obscure the sweet and leafy scene around ; 
And, homeward bending, thro' the moonlight trees, 
The owl salutes him with her trem'lous sound, 
And many a fluttering bat pursues its mazy round. 

Thus, peaceful pass his lonely hours away, 
Thus, in retirement from his school affairs, 



=@ 



wilson's poems. 187 

He tastes a bliss unknown to worldlings gay ; 
A soothing antidote for all his cares. 
Adoring nature's God. he joyous shares 
"With happy millions, freedom's fairest scene ; 
His evening hymn, some plaintive Scottish airs, 
Breathed from the flute, or melting violin, 
With life-inspiring airs, and wanton jigs between. 



OR LANG- MILLS DETECTED. 

" Yes, while I live, no rude or sordid knave 
Shall walk the world in credit to his grave." 

Pope. 
Ye weaver blades ! ye noble chiels ! 

Wha fill our land wf plenty, 
And mak our vera barest fiel's 

To wave wi' ilka dainty, 
Defend yoursels ! tak sicker heed ! 

I warn you as a brither, 
Or Shark's resolved, wi' hellish greed, 
To gorge us a' thegither, 

At ance this day. 

In gude's-name will we ne'er get free 

O' thieves and persecution ! 
Will Satan never let a be 

To plot our dissolution ! 
Ae scoun'rel sinks us to the pit, 

Wi' his eternal curses, 
Anither granes, — and prays, — and yet 

Contrives to toom our purses, 
Maist every day. 

A higher aim gars Willy think, 
And deeper schemes he's brewin ; 

Ten thousan' fouk at ance to sink 
To poverty and ruin ! 



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® = 

188 wilson's poems. 

Hail mighty patriot ! Noble soul ! 

Sae generous, and sae civil, 
Sic vast designs deserve the whole 

Applauses of the devil, 

On ony day. 

In vain we've toiled wi' head and heart, 

And constant deep inspection, 
For years on years, to bring this art 

So nearly to perfection ; 
The mair that art and skill deserve, 

The greedier Will advances, 
And saws and barrels only serve 

To heighten our expenses 

And wrath this day. 

But know, to thy immortal shame, 

While stands a paper-spot 
So long, great Squeeze- the-poor ! thy fame 

Thy blasted fame shall rot, 
And as a brick, or limestane kiln 

Wi' sooty reek advances, 
So grateful shall thy mem'ry still 

Be to our bitter senses, 

By night or day. 

Lang Willy Shark wi' greedy snout 

Had sneaked about the C — n — 1, 
To eat his beef, and booze about, 

Nor proved at drinking punch ill, 
Till, Judas-like, he got the bag, 

And squeezed it to a jelly, 
Thae war the days for Will to brag, 

And blest times for the belly 
Ilk ither day. 

The mair we get by heuk and cruk 
We aften grow the greedier, 



wilson's poems. 189 

Shark raiket now through every neuk 

To harl till him speedier : 
His ghastly conscience, pale and spent, 

Was summoned up, right clever, 
Syne, wi' an execration, sent 

Aff, henceforth and for ever, 

Frae him that day. 

This done, trade snoovt awa wi' skill 

And wonderfu' extention, 
And widen 't soon was every mill, 

(A dexterous invention !) 
Groat after groat, was clippet aff, 

Erae ae thing and anither, 
Till fouk began to think on draff, 

To help to haud thegither 

Their banes that day. 

Now, round frae cork to cork he trots 

Wi' eagerness and rigour, 
And "Rump the petticoats and spots!" 

His Sharkship roared wi' vigour ; 
But, whan his harnishes cam in 

In dizens in a morning, 
And a' grew desolate and grim, 

His rapture changed to mourning, 
And rage that day. 

Thus Haman, in the days of yore, 

Pufft up wi' spitefu' evil, 
Amang his blackguard, wicked core 

Contrived to play the devil ; 
High stood the gibbet's dismal cape, 

But little thought the sinner 
That he had caft the vera rape 

Wad rax his neck, e'er dinner 

Was owre that day. 

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190 wilson's poems. 

Wha cou'd believe a chiel sae trig 

Wad cheat us o' a bodle ? 
Or that sae fair a gowden wig 

Contained sae black a noddle ? 
But Shark beneath a sleekit smile 

Conceals his fiercest girning, 
And, like his neighbours of the Nile, a 

Devours wi' little warning 

By night or day. 

happy is that man and blest 
Wha in the C — n — 1 gets him ! 

Soon may he cram his greedy kist 
And dare a soul to touch him. 

But should some poor auld wife, by force 
O' poortith, scrimp her measure, 

Her cursed reels at P y Corse, 

Wad bleeze wi' meikle pleasure 
To them that day. 

Whiles, in my sleep, methinks I see 
Thee marching through the city, 

And Hangman Jock, wi' girnan glee, 
Proceeding to his duty. 

1 see thy dismal phiz and back, 
While Jock, his stroke to strengthen, 

Brings down his brows at every swack, 
" I'll learn you frien' to lengthen, 
Your mills the day." 

Poor wretch ! in sic a dreadfu' hour 
O' blude and dirt and hurry, 

What wad thy saftest luke or sour 
Avail to stap their fury ? 

" Lang Mills, wad rise around thy lugs 
In mony a horried volley, 

a A well-known river much infested by crocodiles. 



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Wilson's poems. 191 



And thou be kicket to the dugs, 
To think upo' thy folly 

Ilk after day. 

Ye Senators ! whase wisdom deep 

Keeps a' our matters even, 
If sic a wretch ye dare to keep 

How can ye hope for heaven ? 
Kick out the scoun'rel to his shift, 

We'll pay him for his sporting, 
And sen' his mills and him adrift 

At ance to try their fortune 

Down Cart this day. 

Think, thou unconscionable Shark ! 

For heaven's sake bethink thee ! 
To what a depth of horrors dark 

Sic wark will surely sink thee — 
Repent of sic enormous sins, 

And drap thy curst intention, 
Or faith I fear, wi' birslt shins, 

Thou'll mind this reprehension 
Some future day. 



Unheard of tortures 

Must be reserved for such, these herd together ; 
The common damned shun their society, 
And look upon themselves as fiends less foul. 

Blair. 

Attend a' ye, wha on the loom, 

Survey the shuttle jinking, 
Whase purse has aft been sucket toom, 

While Willie's scales war' clinkin', 
A' ye that for some luckless hole 

Ha'e paid (though right unwillin') 



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192 wilson's poems. 

To satisfy his hungry soul, 
A saxpence or a shillin' 

For fine some day. 

Shall black Injustice lift its head, 

And cheat us like the devil, 
Without a man to stop its speed, 

Or crush the growin' evil ! 
No ; — here am I, wi' vengeance big, 

Kesolved to calm his clashin' ; 
Nor shall his cheeps or powdered wig, 

Protect him frae a lashin' 

Eight keen this day. 

See ! cross his nose he lays the specks, 

And o'er the claith he glimmers, 
Ilk wee bit triflin' fau't detects, 

And cheeps, and to him yaummers, 
" Dear man ! — that wark 'ill never do ; 

See that : ye'll no tak' tellin' ;" 
Syne knavish chirts his fingers through, 

And libels down a shilling 

For 'holes that day. 

Perhaps the fellow's needin' clink, 

To calm some threatnin' beagle, 
Whilk mak's him at sic baseness wink, 

And for some siller wheedle. 
In greetin', herse, ungracious croon, 

Aul' Willy granes, " I hear ye, 
But weel ! a wat our siller's done, 

We really canna spare ye 

Ae doyt this day." 

Health to the brave Hibernian boy, 
Who when by Willie cheated, 

Cocked up his hat, without annoy, 
And spoke with passion heated ; 



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wilson's poems. 193 

" Upon my sowl I have a mind, 

Ye old deceiving devil, 
To toss your wig up to the wind, 

And teach you to be cevil, 

To me this day." 

But see ! anither curtain's drawn, 

Some chiel his web has finish't, 
And Willy on the tither han', 

The price o't has diminish't. 
But brought before the awfu' Judge, 

To pay the regulation ; 
Will lifts his arm, without a grudge, 

And swears by his salvation — 

He's right that day. 

Anither's been upo' the push, 

To get his keel in claith, 
In certain hopes to be sure flush, 

0' notes and siller baith. 
Returnin' for his count at night, 

The poor imposed-on mortal, 
Maun pay for punds o' clean light weight, 

Though he's maist at the portal, 
O' want that day. 

In vain he pleads — appeals to God, 

That scarce he lost an ounce ; 
The holy watcher o' the broad 

Cheeps out that he's a dunce. 
Out frae the door he e'en maun come, 

Right thankfu' gin ye get 
Some counterfeits, a scanty sum 

Brought frae the aul' kirk yate, 
Yon preachin' day. 

O sirs ! what conscience he contains, 
What curse maun lie be dreein', 

M 3 

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194 wilson's poems. 

Whase every day is marked wi' stains 

O' cheatin' and o' leein' ! 
M'K 1, H-b, or throwther O-r, 

May swear and seem to fash us, 
But justice dignifies their door, 

And gen'rously, they clash us 

The clink each day. 

Our Hollander, (gude help his soul) 

Kens better ways o' workin', 
For Jock and him has aft a spraul 

Wha'll bring the biggest dark in. 
" Weel Jock, what hast thou skrewt the day ?" 

" Deed father I'se no crack o't, 
Mne holes, sax ounce, or there away, 

Is a' that I cou'd mak' o't 

This live lang day." 

Sic conversation aft taks place, 

When darkness hides their logic ; 
Like Milton's Deil and sin, they trace 

For some new winning project : 
Daft though they be, and unco gloits, 

Yet they can count like scholars, 
How farthings, multiplied by doits, 

Grow up to pounds and dollars, 
Some after day. 

Forbye, to gie the deil his due, 

I own, wi' biggest won'er, 
That nane can sell their goods like you, 

Or swear them up a hun'er. 
Lang hacknied in the paths of vice, 

Thy conscience nought can fear her ; 
And tens and twals can, in a trice, 

Jump up twa hun'er far'er, 
On ony day. 



(Q) © 

wilson's poems. 195 

What town can thrive wi' sic a crew 

Within its entrails crawlin', 
Muck-worms, that must provoke a spew 

To see or hear them squalin' ! 
Down on your knees, man, wife, and wean — 

For ance implore the deevil 
To haurl to himself his ain, 
And free us frae sic evil, 

This vera day . 



OR THE TEMPLE OF TERROR. 

Oh a' ye nine wha wing the lift, 

Or trip Parnassus' green, 
Or through droll bardies' noddles skift, 

And mak' them bauld and bien ; 
Attend me while a scene I lift, 

An awfu' waefu' screen, 
That aft maist sent my saul adrift, 

Out at my vera een, 

On mony a day. 

Now draw the string — hail weel kent part, 

Ye doors and firms,-— black gear ; 
But cease, thou flighterin' thuddin' heart, 

Thou naething hast to fear ; 
The Muses deign thus low to dart, 

To guard thy footsteps here : 
Then cock thy bonnet brisk and smart, 

The ferlies see and hear, 

This waefu' day. 

See how they're scuddin' up the stair, 

A' breathless, and a' pcchin' — 
"Wha cam' last?" " Me," cries some ane there — 

Still up they're comin' stechin' ; 

m4 

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<S) = ~ (§ 

196 Wilson's poems. 

Some oxtering pocks o' silken ware, 

Some lapfu's hov't like kechan ; 
An' aft the sigh, and hum, and stare, 

E'en frichtet like they're hechin', 
Sad, sad, this day. 

" Is this the dolefu' jougs, gudewife, 

Or black stool o' repentance ? 
Or are ye try't 'tween death and life, 

And waiting for your sentence ? 
Ye leuk to be a dismal corps 

0* desolate acquaintance !" 
"Whisht," quo' the wife, " ye maunna roar, 

Or lad ye'll soon be sent hence, 
By Hab this day." 

Now t wiggle twiggle goes the door, 

In steps the foremost comer, 
Tak's aff his cowl, pu's out his store, 

A' shakin', tells the num'er. 
The ready scales, a clinkin' corps 

0' weights, amaist a hun'er; 
Lets Andrew ken what down to score, 

Syne heaves it out like lum'er, 
In's neive this day. 

Now, now, ye wretch, prepare, prepare, 

And tak' a snuft' to cheer ye ; 
See how he spreads your lizures bare — 

Hech, but they're black and dreary. 
" Lord, sirrah," Hab roars like a bear, 

" What stops me but I tear ye ? 
Such lizures ! — damn your blood, ye stare, — 

By G-d, ye dog, I'll swear ye 
To hell this day." 

The poor soul granes aneath the rod, 
As burning in a fever, 

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wilson's poems. 197 



His knees to ane anither nod, 
And hand, and lip pale, quiver. 

The tiger stamps, with fury shod, 
" Confound your blasted liver ; 

Bring hame the beating, and by G-d 
Ye may be damned for ever, 

For ought I care." 

Now swelled to madness, round the room 

Hab like a fury prances ; 
While each successive comer's doom 

Is fixt to hell, as chance is. 
His agents a', wi' sullen gloom 

Mute, measure, as he dances 
With horrid rage, damning the loom, 

And weavers ; soon he seances 

Their claith this day. 

His fate met out, awa' wi' speed 

The plackless sinner trudges, 
Glad to escape the killing dread, 

O' sic unfeeling judges. 
His greetin' weans mourn out for bread, 

The hopeless wife now grudges, 
And ruin gathers round his head, 

In many a shape that huge is, 

And grim this day. 

And now, ye pridefu' wabster chiels, 

How dare ye stand afore him, 
And say he aften gi'es to deils, 

Men that's by far before him ; 
Ye mock his skill o' claith and keels, 

And frae douce christians score him, 
But haith gin he kens this as weel, 

To coin oaths I'se encore him 
Aloud this day. 






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198 wilson's poems. 

Go on, — great, glorious Hab, go on — 

Kave owre the trembling wretches ; 
Mind neither merit, sex, nor one, 

But curse them a' for bitches ; 
While echo answers every groan, 

That their deep murmur fetches ; 
Damn every poor man's worth, and moan, 

For that exalts like riches, 

Bright souls as thine. 

But when that serious day or night 

That's sure to come draws near ; 
When thy ain wab, a dismal sight, 

Maun to be judged appear. 
Ha, Hab ! I doubt thy weight owre light, 

Will gar thee girn and swear ; 
An' thou'lt gang down the brumstane height, 

Weel guarded flank and rear, 
To hell that day. 



A POETIC TALE, RELATED BY HIMSELF. 

Honi Soit Qui Mai y Pense. 

O ye, my poor sca't brethren a', 
Wha mony a time wi' hungry maw, 
Implore the beild o' some barn wa\ 

Wi' hurdies sair, 
Now to the deil your boxes blaw, 

And beg nae mair. 

I've seen the day, but faith it's gane, 
When roun' farm towns, frae ane to ane, 
The shortest route we might have ta'en, 

Nor been molested, 
But now wi' stabs, an' lime, an' stane, 

We're vext an' pested. 



wilson's poems. 199 

The deil a fit ye owre dare set, 

But trudge lang twa mile to the yett, 

Or by the L — d ye'll aiblins get 

Your legs in chains ; 
Or skelpit back wi' haffits het, 

And broken banes. 

Ae nicht short syne as haine I trampit, 
Beneath my pack, wi' banes sair crampit, 
But owre a wee bit dyke I lampit, 

And trottin burn, 
There to do for my ain bethankit, 

A needfu' turn. 

Aweel, I scarcely had begun 

To ope the evacuating gun, 

I'll swear they hadna reached the grun. 

When frae the wud 
A bellied gent, steps owre the run, 

Wi' " Dem your blood ! 

"By whose authority or order 
Came ye upon this corn-rig border, 
To rowe your filth and reeking ordure 

On me a Bailie ? 
Hence wi' your dirt, else by the L — d or 

Lang I'll jail ye." 

I glowert a wee, syne fetched a grane, 

" Deed sir, through mony a lane I've gane, 

An' gin ye raise me frae this stane, 

Ne'er laird or lady 
Attempted such a job their lane, 

Till I was ready. 

" Gin ye can prove, by pen or tongue, 
That Ian' ne'er profited by dung, 

N 

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200 Wilson's poems. 

That by its influence corn ne'er sprung, 
Though I should lumple, 

I'se thole a thump o' that hard rung, 
Out owre my rumple. 

" My order, sir, was nature's laws, 
That was the reason, and because 
Necessity's demands and ca's 

War' very gleg, 
I hunkered down 'mang thir hard wa's 

To lay my egg. 

" And sir, I'm seeking naething frae you ; 
My offering here I freely lea you, 
Sic presents ilka ane wont gie you, 

Tak' ye my word, 
Ye're richer since I first did see you, 

That reeking ." 

Scarce had I spoke, when owre he sprung, 
And rais't a yellow knotted rung, 
And aim't at me a dreadfu' fung, 

Wi' foaming spite, 
But owre my head it suchin swung, 

Dash on the dyke. 

I started up and lap the dyke, 

" Now, curse you, sir, come when you like, 

I'll send this stick, armed wi' a pike, 

Amang your painches, 
Ye ugly, greasy, girnin' tyke, 

Now guard your hainches." 

He roared a most tremendous oath, 
That Satan's sell wi' shame wad loath, 
While frae his devilish mouth the froth 

Flew aff wi' squatter, 
Then raised a stane, as dead's a moth 

My brains to batter. 



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@ 

wilson's poems 201 

When at this instant o' the faugh t, 
A gentleman came belly fraught, 
And in his arms the tiger caught, 

Wi' frighted tone, 
Exclaiming, "L — d sake, Mr. L 

What has he done?" 

Here I stood forth to bring't to a bearing, 
"Please, sir, to grant a patient hearing, 
An' I'll unravel what you're speering, 

To your contentment ; 
Let go the b — h, don't think I'm fearing 
The fool's resentment." 

Sae I related a' the matter, 

That raised between us sic a clatter, 

At which he laughed till fairly water 

Relieved his e'en : 
While the grim wretches baith did clatter 

Wi' malice keen. 

'•'Now, sir, compose yoursel' a wee; 
Tak' aff your hat an' join wi' me, 
While for this sinner black I gie 
My earnest prayer, 
Whilk frae my very saul on hie 
I here uprear. 

" Great Jove ! before thee here is seen, 
A human bear, a speaking swine, 
Wha wi' dread oaths, and fiery e'en, 

And devilish feature, 

Has dared to curse a work o' thine 

For easing nature. 

" On him pour plagues without restraint, 
Wi' restless buneuchs him torment, 

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@ — 

202 wilson's poems. 

Till through fierce purgin' he be spent 
As tume's a blether ; 

And that big wame that's now sae bent, 
Be a' lowse leather. 

" And when he limps wi' gout and spavie, 
Through jaunering crowds, held as a knave aye, 
There may't attack him, while a privie 

In vain he seeks, 
Till he be forced to blowt the gravie 

Just in his breeks ! 

" Whene'er he drinks to raise the flame, 
Syne hurries hame to Venus' game, 
May cauld yill clankin' in his wame 

Wi' hurlin' rum'le, 
Aft force him to forsake the dame 

Wi' spoulin' whum'le. 

" Then may he rue, (although owre late 
To stop the yellin' roaring spate) 
That e'er he curst, or vicious flate 

On pedlar . 

And e'en envy his blessed fate 

Wha sat sae canny. 

" And Lord ! an answer soon sen' back. 
And let him see thy han's na slack. 
Amen, amen, — put on your hat, 

And haud the bear in." 
So up I swung my verdant pack, 

And left him swearin'. 



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wilson's poems. 203 

SlWJiwfti to $e jSgE®§) d €& Id &b8) &-t, 

BY LAWRIE NETTLE. 

TV? James Wardrop of Spring Bank, Esq. 

Dear and much-esteemed Sir, — It is evident to every one, who 
is a little conversant in the world, that liberty and absurdity are 
the two leading characteristics of the present age. Against the 
former, a ponderous antidote has of late been exhibited by the 

Synod of G w and A — r, a set of mortals for whom you have 

a very great veneration. But as the public are pretty well satis- 
fied of the absurdity of such addresses, especially from the clergy, 
who are, or should be, instructors of the ignorant, and reclaimers 

of the profligate, their late address to his M y seems to be 

an encroachment on the liberties of mankind, and an insult upon 
common sense. For these reasons the author of the following 
verses has thought proper to trouble the world with it in print, 
and thinks himself extremely happy in having it put under your 
patronage ; believing that, from the unbounded goodness, and 
unparalleled modesty of my worthy patron, it will derive more effi- 
cacy than it either has or possibly could, from its author. But 
as it is common to those who write dedications, to give the world 
a catalogue of the shining virtues and amiable qualifications of 
their patron, (and sometimes more than they possess) the author 
of the following address is at no loss, considering the many in- 
comparable qualifications which you possess. As the work is 
small of itself, it would be very improper to have a long dedica- 
tion, I must therefore be excused for giving only the outlines of 
my worthy patron's amiable character. And therefore, my dear 
sir, for brevity's sake, I shall sum up the whole in two particu- 
lars, in which all the rest is comprehended : and first, your ortho- 
dox mind and elevated taste forms a principal part of your virtu- 
ous character, and is perhaps at the bottom of all, as you no doubt 
have heard from the clergy among whom you have been much 
conversant, that soundness in the faith lies at the foundation of 
all right exercise ; but this is so well known that no more need 
be said upon it. But the second, and most conspicuous lineament 
that has beamed forth in your life and conversation, is your laud- 
able endeavours, and unceasing assiduity, to promote the righte- 
ous cause, or in other words, your not being weary in well-doing ; 
to give instances of this it would swell into a huge volume. A 
few things only shall be condescended upon, which as they will 
perpetuate your savoury name in Glasgow, must long afford you 
much pleasures in your retired moments, and when pain or sick- 
n2 



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204 Wilson's poems. 

ness affects your mortal frame. Your late laudable endeavours 

in order to effectuate the conversion of the Irish giant, S 1 

S r, and other of your contemporaries on the exchange, some 

of whom are now gone to their Father's house. I must not 
however forget your praise-worthy endeavours in the church of 
Camlachie, a with the fervent prayers you have uttered there to 
the great satisfaction of your auditors. Many other things might 
be produced as evidences of your faithfulness in your day and 
generation, but the author does not wish to insist. He hopes you 
will use your influence in recommending the following address to 
the attention of the public, and particularly to that reverend and 
holy fraternity of whom you have long been a fervent lover and an 
eminent flatterer. With all due humility and respect, I beg leave 
to subscribe myself, 

Dear Sir, your most obedient servant, 

LAWRIE NETTLE. 
Glasgow, Nov. 5th, 1792. 

ADDRESS TO THE SYNOD OF G W AND A — R. 

Ye very reverend haly dads, 

Wha fill the black gown dously, 
And deal divinity in blauds, 

Amang the vulgar crously. 
And when in Synod ye do sit, 

There to fill up your station, 
Ye fieech the king and Willy Pitt, 

And roose the Proclamation 

WT pith this day. 

I hae a word or twa to gie, 

Ye'll may be think it's fly ting, 
Gin ye wad lend your lugs a wee, 

Ye'll get it het and piping. 
An overture that ne'er cam' through 

Presbyt'ry or Session, 
And to your reverences now 

It comes without digression 

In lumps this day. 

a A Sunday School was erected, and conducted for some time 
under the patronage of my worthy patron, at the above village, 
which he termed the church of Camlachie. 

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Wilson's poems. 205 

Ye wad do weel to feed your flecks, 

And read your buiks ruair tenty, 
Then ye wad better raise your stocks, 

And fill your ha's wi' plenty. 
Morality and common sense, 

And reason ye should doat on, 
For then ye're sure of recompense 

Frae ladies and your patron 
On sic a day. 
Ye think to get your wages up 

For sic a lang oration, 
But aiblins ye may get the slip — - 

Ye've cankered half the nation. 
Though P s be a funny soul, 

And fu' o' craft and learning, 
Hell hardly get a siller bowl 

Worth forty guineas sterling, 

For thanks yon day. 
Sic things are but ill taen thir days, 

When Liberty's sae raging, 
And in her leel and noble cause 

Ten thousands are engaging. 
The kirk should a' your time mortgage, 

For weel she pays the cost ; 
And royalty and patronage 

Eternally's your toast 

Baith night and day. 
O Patronage, ye cunning baud, 

Ye should be sairly thumpit, 
Deil blaw ye south, ye cruel jade, 

Ye ne'er-do-weel like strumpet. 
For under your infamous wing, 

The clergy sits sae paughty, 
And slyly hums the foolish k— g, 

Wi' cracks that are fell daughty, 
For clink this day. 

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206 wilson's poems. 

The Eights of Man is now weel kenned, 

And read by mony a hunder, 
For Tammy Paine the buik has penned, 

And lent the courts a lounder. 
It's like a keeking-glass to see 

The craft of kirk and statesmen ; 
And wi' a bauld and easy glee, 

Guid faith the birky beats them 
Aff hand this day. 

Though G dy be deluded now, 

And kens na what's a-doing, 
Yet aiblins he may find it true 

There is a blast a-brewing. 
For British boys are in a fiz, 

Their heads like bees are humming, 
And for their rights and liberties 

They're mad upon reforming 

The court this day. 
But gin the proclamation should 

Be put in execution, 
Then brethren ye may chew your cud, 

And fear a revolution. 
For fegs ye've led the kirk a dance, 

Her tail is now in danger, 
For of the liberties in France 

Nae Scotsman is a stranger 

At hame this day. 
But deil may care for a' your thanks, 

And prayers that did confirm it ; 
Like Lewis in his royal branks, 

The k — g and you may girn yet. 
There's a mony a chiel of noble stuff, 

'Tween Johnny Groats and Dover, 
That starkly may gie him a cuff, 

And send him to H r 

Wi' speed some day. 

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Wilson's poems. 207 

Ye think yoursels sae safe and snug, 

That ne'er a ane dare strike ye, 
But for your thanks, I'll lay my lug, 

Few patriots will like ye : 
The kirk is now on her last legs, 

And to the pot she's tumbling ; 
And troth my lads ye're aff your eggs, 

For a' your gratefu' mumbling 
On sic a day. 
It's true indeed she's lang stood out 

Against dissenting nostrums, 
Although she's gotten many a clout 

Frae their despised rostrums. 
The state has long kept at her side, 

And firmly did support her, 
But Liberty wi' furious tide, 

Is like to come athwart her 

Pell mell this day. 
The power of clergy, wylie tykes, 

Is unco fast declining ; 
And courtiers' craft, like snaw aff dykes, 

Melts when the sun is shining. 
Auld Monarchy, wi' cruel paw, 

Her dying pains is gnawing, 
While Democracy, trig and braw, 

Is through a' Europe crawing 

Fu' crouse this day. 
But lest the Muse exaggerate, 

Come, here's for a conclusion, 
On every true blue Democrate 

I ken ye'll pray confusion. 
But frae your dark and deep designs 

Fair Liberty will hide us ; 
Frae G w and frae A — r divines 

We pray good Lord to guide us 
On ilka day. 

— = @ 



208 wilson's poems. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF A PEDESTRIAN JOURNEY TO THE FALLS OF 
NIAGARA. 



ARGUMENT. 

Exordium— American scenery seldom the theme of poetry— the 
season — the Foresters, Duncan, Leech, and the author — Ger- 
mantown— Springhouse tavern — its guests, &c. — Bucks, a Dutch 
settlement — employment of Hans and his frau — Easton — Blue 
Mountains — a school — the teacher — the dignity, utility, and 
miseries of the profession — prayer in behalf of teachers. — Effects 
of a tornado — Shades of Death— woodman's hut — Address to 
the Susquehanna — Benevolent landlord — Duncan in love — 
Hospitality apostrophized — a rattlesnake— Keeler's Ferry — 
money the greatest curiosity in the township — Pat Dougherty's 
hotel — Wyalusing — French royalists in exile — Breakneck — 
Spanish Hill — Apostrophe to Industry — Chemung — Eulogium 
on Sullivan and others — Newtown — Catharine's Swamps — 
Exiled Indian's Lament — Fowling — howling of wolves — a 
panther seen — the forest on fire — appearance of the woodman 
— his hut — parting of friends — a nocturnal voyage — Address to 
Columbia — Trapper's hut — an Indian hunter — Fort Oswego — 
Lake Ontario — embarkation — Sickness — landing at Queens- 
town — First view of the falls of Niagara — Description of the 
various falls — Address to the God of Nature — the Foresters 
set out on their return — lodge near the Falls — dream of the 
scenery — awake in horror of perishing in the rapids, and are 
again rocked to rest by the tumult of the waters. 

Sons of the city ! ye whom crowds and noise 
Bereave of peace and Nature's rural joys, 
And ye who love through woods and wilds to range, 
Who see new charms in each successive change ; 
Come roam with me Columbia's forestsjhrough, 
Where scenes sublime shall meet your wonderin g view 
Deep shades magnificent, immensely spread ; 
Lakes, sl:y-encircled, vast as ocean's bed ; 



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tvilson's poe3Is. 209 

Lone hermit streams that wind thro' savage woods ; 
Enormous cataracts swoln with thundering floods ; 
The settler's* farm with blazing fires o'erspread ; 
The hunter's cabin and the Indian's shed ; 
The log-built hamlet, deep in wilds embraced ; 
The awful silence of the unpeopled waste : 
These are the scenes the Muse shall now explore, 
Scenes new to song, and paths untrod before. 

To Europe's shores renowned in deathless song, 
Must all the honours of the bard belong ? 
And rural Poetry's enchanting strain 
Be only heard beyond the Atlantic main ? 
What though profuse in many a patriot's praise, 
We boast a Barlow's soul-exalting lays ; 
An Humphreys, blessed with Homer's nervous glow ; 
And freedom's friend and champion in Preneau ; 
Yet Nature's charms that bloom so lovely here, 
Unhailed arrive, unheeded disappear ; 
While bare bleak heaths, and brooks of half a mile 
Can rouse the thousand bards of Britain's isle. 
There scarce a stream creeps down its narrow bed, 
There scarce a hillock lifts its little head, 
Or humble hamlet peeps their glades among 
But lives and murmurs in immortal song ; 
Our western world, with all its matchless floods, 
Our vast transparent lakes and boundless woods, 
Stamped with the traits of majesty sublime, 
Unhonoured weep the silent lapse of time, 
Spread their wild grandeur to the unconscious sky, 
In sweetest seasons pass unheeded by ; 
While scarce one Muse returns the songs they gave, 
Or seeks to snatch their glories from the grave. 

a A term usually applied in America to those persons who first 
commence the operations of agriculture in a new country, by 
cutting, clearing, and actual settlement. The varied appearance 
of the woods when these are rapidly going on, forms a busy, novel, 
and interesting picture. 



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210 wilson's poems. 

The sultry heats of summer's sun were o'er, 
And ruddy orchards poured their ripened store ; 
Stripped of their leaves the cherry av'nues stood, 
While sage October tinged the yellow wood, 
Bestrewed with leaves and nuts the woodland path, 
And roused the Katydid a in chattering wrath; 
The corn stood topped, their pumkins strewed the 

ground, 
And driving clouds of blackbirds wheeled around. 
Far to the south our warblers had withdrawn ; 
Slow sailed the thistle-down along the lawn ; 
High on the hedge-rows, pendant over head, 
The embow'ring vines their purple clusters spread, 
The buckwheat flails re-echoed from the hill, 
The creaking cider-press was busier still ; 
Red through the smoky air the wading sun 
Sunk into fog ere half the day was done ; 
The air was mild, the roads embrowned and dry, 
Soft, meek-eyed Indian summer b ruled the sky. 

Such was the season when equipt we stood 
On the green banks of Schuylkill's winding flood, 
Bound on a tour wide northern forests through, 
And bade our parting friends a short adieu. 
Three cheerful partners, Duncan was the guide, 
Young, gay and active, to the forest tried ; 
A stick and knapsack all his little store, 
With these, whole regions Duncan could explore ; 
Could trace the path to other eyes unseen, 
Tell where the panther, deer, or bear had been, 
The long dull day through swamp and forest roam, 
Strike up his fire and find himself at home ; 

a A species of Gryllus very numerous and very noisy in the 
woods at that season. 

b This expression is so well understood in the United States as 
hardly to require an explanation. Between the months of Octo- 
ber and December there is usually a week or two of calm serene 
smoky weather, such as here described, which is universally de- 
nominated the Indian summer. 



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Wilson's poems. 211 

Untie his wallet, taste his frugal store, 
And under shelbury bark profoundly snore. 
And soon as morning cheered the forest scene ; 
Resume his knapsack and his path again. 

Next Leech advanced, with youthful sails unfurled, 
Fresh on his maiden cruise to see the world ; 
Red o'er his cheek the glow of health was spread, 
An oilskin covering glittered round his head ; 
His light fuzee across his shoulder thrown, 
His neat-slung knapsack full and glistening shone ; 
Though unknown regions wide before him lay, 
He scorned all fear while Wilson shared the way. 
He next appeared, with glittering arms supplied, 
A double gun, a deadly dirk beside, 
A knapsack, crammed by Friendship's generous care, 
With cakes and cordials, drams, and dainty fare ; 
Flasks filled with powder, leathern belts with shot ; 
Clothes, colours, paper, pencils — and what not, 
With hope elate, and ardour in his eye, 
He viewed the varying scenes approaching nigh, 
Prepared and watchful (heedless of repose) 
To catch the living manners as they rose ; 
Th' exploits, fatigues, and wonders to rehearse, 
In no inglorious or enfeebled verse ; 
Nor scene nor character to bring to view 
Save what fair Truth from living Nature drew. 

Thus each equipt beneath his separate load, 
We, fellow-pilgrims, gaily took the road. 
A road immense ; yet promised joys so dear, 
That toils, and doubts, and dangers, disappear. 
Behind us soon the lessening city flies, 
New vallies sink and other hills arise, 
Till through old Germantown we lightly trod, 
That skirts for three long miles the narrow road, 
And rising Chesnut-Hill around surveyed, 
Wide woods below in vast extent displayed. 



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212 Wilson's poems. 

Studded with glittering farms ; the distant view 
Died into mingling clouds and mountains blue ; 
The road was good, the passing scenery gay, 
Mile after mile passed unperceived away, 
Till in the west the day began to close, 
And Spring-house tavern furnished us repose. 
Here two long rows of market folks were seen, 
Kanged front to front, the table placed between, 
Where bags of meat and bones, and crusts of bread, 
And hunks of bacon all around were spread ; 
One pint of beer from lip to lip went round, 
And scarce a crumb the hungry house-dog found ; 
Torrents of Dutch from every quarter came, 
Pigs, calves, and saur-craut the important theme ; 
While we, on future plans revolving deep, 
Discharged our bill and straight retired to sleep. 

The morning star shone early on our bed, 
Again our march the vigorous Duncan led. 
The vault of heaven with constellations hung, 
Their myriads twinkling as he cheerly sung, 
Beguiling the lone hours. Thus half the day, 
O'er hill and dale our stretching journey lay, 
Through fertile Bucks, a where lofty barns abound, 
For wheat, fair Quakers, eggs, and fruit renowned ; 
"Full fields, snug tenements, and fences neat, 
Wide spreading walnuts drooping o'er each gate ; 
The spring-house peeping from enclustering trees, 
Gay gardens filled with herbs, and roots and bees, 
Where quinces, pears, and clustering grapes were 

seen, 
With ponderous calabashes hung between ; 
While orchards, loaded, bending o'er the grass, 
Invite to taste and cheer us as we pass. 

a The County of Bucks, in Pennsylvania, is a rich well culti- 
vated tract of country, containing nearly half a million of acres, 
and upwards of 30,000 inhabitants. 



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Wilson's poems. 213 

But these too soon give place to prospects drear, 
As o'er Northampton' s a barren heights we steer ; 
Bleak land of stones, deep swamps, and pigmy woods, 
Where the poor Swabian o'er his drudgery broods ; 
Toils hard ; and when the heats of harvest burn, 
Gleans from the rocks his pittance in return. 
Yet though so cursed his soil, his sheaves so few, 
All-conquering Industry still bears him through ; 
Averse to change, pleased patiently to plod 
The same dull round his honest father trod. 
Behold his low roofed hut on yonder green, 
There no gay front or proud piazza's seen ; 
Let wealthy fools their precious hoards disburse, 
No whim can tempt him to untie his purse. 
A moss-grown penthouse shades his narrow door, 
One window joins with patches covered o'er ; 
Around the garden numerous hives are ranged, 
And pendant gourds to fading yellow changed. 
Sheds, smoke-house, hog pens, crowd the miry yard, 
Where endless yells from growling pigs are heard. 
Approach this humble hut ; look in, nor fear ; 
Say, could Ambition find one comfort here ? 
Yet sweet Content e'en here is sometimes found, 
Turning the wheel, or slumbering by its sound. 
No mirrors dazzle, no rich beds appear, 
Wide wasting Fashion never entered here. 
Those plates of pewter, ranged along the frame, 
In ancient days from distant Teuchland came. 
That oaken table, so uncouth and low, 
Stood where it stands some sixty years ago. 
In this arm chair where Hans delights to snore, 
His great grandfather nodded long before. 

a Northampton is an oblong hilly county, adjoining that of 
Bucks. It is crossed nearly at right angles by that remarkable 
range of the Allegany known by the name of the Blue Ridge or 
Blue Mountain, which presents the appearance of an immense 
rampart, extending farther than the eye can reach, with an al- 
most uniform height of summit. 



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214 Wilson's poems. 

Thus glows his greasy stove throughout the year, 

The torrid zone for ever rages here. 

Here, when the shades of weary evening fall, 

Sits Hans, the lord and sovereign of all ; 

Das Neue Callender a from the nail unhooks, 

His dark brows solemn and morose his looks ; 

Beside his lamp, with spectacles on nose, 

To-morrow's weather seeks, its rains or snows, 

The moon's eventful signs, th' auspicious hour 

To plant the downward root or rising flower ; 

Of witch-confounding doctors tells the tale, 

Sips his metheglin, or his cider stale. 

All other joys for which he ever sighs 

His dear loved saur-craut or his pipe supplies. 

Abroad at toil ere yet the morning breaks, 
Each rugged task his hardy frau partakes ; 
With brawny arms the struggling ploughshare guides, 
Whips up her nags and o'er the furrow strides ; 
Awakes the echoes with her clamorous tongue, 
And lends e'en Hans a clout when things go wrong. 
Sweeps round her head the loud resounding flail, 
And sweats the sturdiest mower in the vale. 

Light beat our hearts with changing prospects 
gay, 
As down through Durham Yale we bend our way, 
And pause, its furnace curious to explore, 
Where flames and bellows lately wont to roar, 
Now waste and roofless ; as its w r alls we pass 
The massive shells lie rusting in the grass ! 
There let them rust, fell messengers of death ! 
Till injured liberty be roused to wrath, 
In whose right hand may they, though hosts oppose, 
Be blasting thunderbolts to all her foes. 

The setting sun was sinking in the west, 
And brightly burnishing the mountain's breast, 
a The New Almanac. 



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wilson's poems. 215 

When from afar, as down the steep we hie, 
The glittering roofs of Easton caught the eye : 
Low in the sheltered vale, while rude around 
Hills piled on hills the dreary prospect bound, 
Around the mountain's base, in winding pride, 
The rapid Lehigh rolls his amber tide, 
To meet old Delaware who moves serene, 
While Easton rises on the plains between. 
Tired with the day's long toil we gladly greet 
The snug stone buildings, and the pavement neat ; 
The busy townsmen, jabbering Dutch aloud, 
The court-house, ferry, hanging signs, and crowd ; 
At length one waving sign enchained our view, 
'Twas Pat's Split- crow, a filthy raven too. 
Thither for rest and shelter we repair, 
And home's kind decencies, that ne'er were there. 
Here might the Muse with justice due record 
The wretched fare its scurvy walls afford : 
The black wet bread, with rancid butter spread, 
The beastly drunkards who beside us fed ; 
The beds with fleas and bugs accursed stored, 
Where every seam its tens of thousands poured : 
The host's grim sulkiness, his eager look, 
When from our purse his glittering god we took. 
But nobler themes invite ; be these suppressed, 
The eagle preys not on the carrion's breast. 

Long ere the morn had showed its opening sweets, 
We clubbed our arms, and passed the silent streets ; 
Slow o'er the pavement limpingly we tread, 
But soon recovering, every ailment fled. 
Forward we march, o'er mountains rude and bare, 
No decent farm, and even a cabin rare; 
Thick wastes of ground oak a o'er the country spread, 

a This species of dwarf oak produces great quantities of acorns, 
which the bears, pigeons, grous, jays, &c, are extremely fond of. 
It grows to the height of about five feet, very close, and afl'ords 
good shelter for the deer and bear. 
N 5 






216 Wilson's poems. 

While haggard piDes sigh dismal overhead. 

Lo ! the Blue Mountain now in front appears, 

And high o'er all its lengthened ridge uprears ; 

Th' inspiring sight redoubled vigour lends, 

And soon its steeps each traveller ascends ; 

Panting we wind aloft, begloomed in shade, 

'Mid rocks and mouldering logs tumultuous laid 

In wild confusion ; till the startled eye 

Through the cleft mountain meets the pale blue sky 

And distant forests ; while sublimely wild, 

Towers each tall cliff to heaven's own portals piled. 

Enormous gap, a if Indian tales be true, 

Here ancient Delaware once thundered through, 

And rolled for ages ; till some earthquake dread, 

Or huge convulsion shook him from his bed. 

Here, under rocks, at distance from the road, 
Our ponderous knapsacks cautiously we stowed, 
The mountain's top determined to explore, 
And view the tracks already travelled o'er ; 
As nimble tars the hanging shrouds ascend, 
While hands and feet their joint assistance lend ; 
So we, from rock to rock, from steep to steep, 
Scaled these rude piles, suspended o'er the deep, 
Through low dwarf underwood with chesnuts 

crowned, 
Whose crooked limbs with trailing moss were bound. 
Eager we brush the impending bushes through, 
Panting for breath, and wet with dashing dew : 
Cliff after cliff triumphant we attain, 
And high at last its loftiest summits gain ; 
But such a prospect — such a glorious show ! 
The world, in boundless landscape lay below ! 

a This pass in the Blue Mountain is usually called the Wind 
Gap. The reader will find some curious conjectures on its for- 
mation, in Jefferson's Notes on Virginia. 

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wilson's poems. 217 

Vast coloured forests, to our wandering eyes, 
Seemed softened gardens of a thousand dyes. 
Long lakes appeared ; but at the increase of day 
Assumed new forms, and rolled in mist away. a 
Scooped from the woods unnumbered spots were 

seen, 
Embrowned with culture, or with pasture green ; 
Some cottage smoke moved slow, and dimly white ; 
But every hut had dwindled from the sight. 
In long trailed fogs, that all its windings showed 
For many a league the distant Delaware flowed ; 
And ail beyond seemed to the ravished eye 
One waste of woods, encircling earth and sky. 
We gazed delighted — then with short delay, 
Descending fixed our loads and marched away. 

From this rough mountain, northward as we bend, 
Below us, wide, the woody wilds extend ; 
The same ground oak o'er all the country lies, 
The same burnt pines in lonely prospect rise, 
Mute and untenanted, save where the jay 
Set up his shrill alarm, and bore away. 
One solitary hawk that sailed serene, 
Secure, and eyeing the expanded scene, 
High from his zenith, 'midst the bursting roar, 
Dropt at our feet, and fluttered in his gore. 
" Thus falls," said Duncan, " many a son of pride, 
While buoyed in thought o'er all the world beside." 
From these dull woods emerging into day, 
We pass where farms their opening fields display, 
Barns, -fences, cottages, and lawns appeared, 
Where rious sounds of human toil were heard ; 
There round a hut, upon a sloping green, 
Gay laughing bands of playful boys were seen : 

a The effect of this deception was really astonishing. Nothing 
could be more evident to the eye— the shores, the waters, studded 
with numerous islands, seemed to disappear as if by enchantment. 
O 



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218 wilson's poems. 

Soon " Books," aloud is thundered from the door, 
And balls and hoops must charm the hours no more ; 
But frequent tears the blotted leaves assail, 
And sighs for dear-loved liberty prevail. 
Thither, by long yet fond remembrance led, 
With awe we enter this sequestered shed ; 
All eyes are turned the strangers to survey : 
One tap is heard ! and all the hint obey ; 
Then grave and courteous, rising from his seat, 
The decent master bows with meekness meet, 
Invites to sit — looks round with watchful eyes, 
And bids, by signs, alternate classes rise ; 
Hears, reads, instructs, with solemn voice and slow, 
Deep, busy silence muffling all below ; 
Slates, pens, and copy books in order pass, 
And peace and industry pervade each class. 
Dear to the Muse, to Truth, to Science dear, 
Be he who humbly toils and teaches here : 
His worth, his labours, shall not sleep forgot, 
And thus the Muse records them as she ought. 

Of all professions that this world has known, 
From clowns and cobblers upwards to the throne ; 
From the grave architect of Greece and Rome, 
Down to the framer of a farthing broom, 
The worst for care and undeserved abuse, 
The first in real dignity and use, 
(If skilled to teach, and diligent to rule) 
Is the learned master of a little school, 
Not he who guides the legs, or skills the clown 
To square his fist, and knock his fellow down ; 
Not he who chows the still more barbarous art 
To parry thrusts, and pierce the unguarded heart ; 
But that good man, who, faithful to his charge, 
Still toils the opening reason to enlarge ; 
And leads the growing mind, through every stage, 
From humble A, B, C, to God's own page ; 

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wilson's poems. 219 

From black, rough pothooks, horrid to the sight, 
To fairest lines that float o'er purest white ; 
From Numeration, through an opening way, 
Till dark Annuities seem clear as day ; 
Pours o'er the mind a flood of mental light, 
Expands its wings, and gives it powers for flight, 
Till earth's remotest hound, and heaven's bright train 
He trace, weigh, measure, picture, and explain. 

If such his toils, sure honour and regard, 
And wealth and fame shall be his dear reward ; 
Sure every tongue will utter forth his praise, 
And blessings gild the evening of his days ! 
Yes — blest indeed, by cold ungrateful scorn, 
With study pale, by daily crosses worn, 
Despised by those who to his labour owe 
All that they read, and almost all they know. 
Condemned, each tedious day, such cares to bear 
As well might drive e'en Patience to despair ; 
The partial parent's taunt — the idler dull — 
The blockhead's dark impenetrable scull — 
The endless round of A, B, C's whole train, 
Repeated o'er ten thousand times in vain, 
Placed on a point, the object of each sneer, 
His faults enlarge, his merits disappear ; 
If mild — " Our lazy master loves his ease, 
The boys at school do anything they please." 
If rigid — "He's a cross hard-hearted wretch, 
He drives the children stupid with his birch. 
My child, with gentle means, will mind a breath ; 
But frowns and flogging frighten him to death." 
Do as he will his conduct is arraigned, 
And dear the little that he gets is gained ; 
E'en that is given him, on the quarter day, 
With looks that call it — money thrown away. 
Just Heaven ! who knows the unremitting care 
And deep solicitude that teachers share, 

@ 



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220 wilson's poems. 

If such, their fate, by thy divine control, 
O give them health and fortitude of soul ! 
Souls that disdain the murderous tongue of Fame, 
And strength to make the sturdiest of them tame ; 
Grant this, ye powers ! to dominies distrest, 
Their sharp-tailed hickories will do the rest. 

Again the shades of sober eve appeared, 
Up the dark windings of a creek we steered, 
Where, glad to rest, and each in hungry plight, 
In Mare win's humble hut we spent the night. 
Our social host piles up a jovial fire, 
Brings his best cider, still as we desire, 
Inspects our arms, with nice inquiring gaze, 
And while we eat, his hunting spoils displays : 
The skins of wolves and bears, a panther's jaws, a 
His horrid tusks and life destroying claws ; 
Eecounts the toils and terrors of the chase ; 
And gave us fiddling too, by way of grace ; 
All which, when bed-time warned us to lie down, 
We fully paid him for with half-a-crown. 
Kefreshed with sleep, before the peep of day, 
O'er rising Pocano b we scour away, 
Beyond whose top the Dismal Swamp extends, 
Where Tobihanna's savage stream descends. 

a This animal, generally, though improperly, called by the 
above name, is felis couguar of European writers ; and is con- 
sidered as the most dangerous and formidable inhabitant of our 
forests on this side of the Ohio. They are still numerous among 
the mountains of Pennsylvania that bord r on the Susquehanna 
and frequently destroy deer, calves, sheep, colts, and sometimes, 
it is said, horses and cows. They are bold and daring ; and lie in 
wait in the low branches of trees for the deer, on whom they 
spring with prodigious force, and soon destroy them. The one 
mentioned above had seized a calf in the evening, within a few 
feet of the girl who was milking ; who supposing it to be a large 
dog, gave the alarm, and attempted to drive it off. The old hun- 
ter, our landlord, soon drove him up a tree with his dog, where 
he shot him. 

t> A small spur of the blue ridge, and one of the few places in 
Pennsylvania frequented by the tctrao cupido, or pinnated grous. 



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wilson's poems. 221 

Here prostrate woods, in one direction strewed, 

Point out the path the loud tornado rode, a 

When from the black north-east it gathered strong, 

Creating ruin as it roared along, 

Crashing outrageous. Still with awe- struck mien, 

The pilgrim stops, and gazes on the scene. 

Huge pines that towered for centuries on high, 

Crushed by each other's ruins prostrate lie, 

Black with devouring flames, of branches bare, 

Their ragged roots high tilted frown in air ; 

While shivered trunks, like monuments of wrath, 

Add deeper horror to the wreck beneath. 

Cut through this chaos rude, the narrow road, 

Alone by solitary traveller trod, 

Winds through the wilds of this forlorn domain 

Where ruin drear and desolation reign. 

Here as we loitered on, with restless gaze, 

Absorbed in silence, musing and amaze, 

The rustling bushes and the snorting sound, 

Of startled Bruin b fixed us to the ground ! 

With levelled guns we momentary stood — 

He's gone ! loud crashing through the distant wood ; 

Sad disappointment throbs in every breast, 

And vengeance dire is threatened on the rest. 

And now each passing stump, and bush, and nook, 

Is eyed with eager and suspicious look : 

But one deep solitude around prevails, 

And scarce a cricket eye or ear assails. 

Thus many a tedious mile we travelled o'er, 
Each passing scene more rueful than before ; 

a These tornadoes are very frequent in the different regions of 
the United States. The one above alluded to, had been extremely 
violent ; and for many miles had levelled the woods in its way. 
We continued to see the effects of its rage for above 20 miles. 

h At this season of the year great numbers of bears resort to 
the mountains in search of whortleberries, which they devour with 
great voracity. They are at this time very fat, and some are fre- 
quently shot that weigh upwards of 4001bs. 
o 2 



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222 Wilson's poems. 

Till night's dun glooms descending o'er our path, 
We took up lodgings at the Shades of Death. a 
The blazing fire, where logs on logs were laid, 
Through the red hut a cheerful radiance spread ; 
Large horns of deer the owner's sports reveal ; 
The active housewife turns her buzzing wheel ; 
Prone on the hearth, and basking in the blaze, 
Three plump but ragged children loitering gaze ; 
And all our landlord's odd inquiries o'er, 
He dealt out tales and anecdotes in store, 
Of panthers trapt b — of wounded bears enraged ; 
The wolves and wildcats he had oft engaged ; 
The noble bucks his rifle had brought down — 
How living rattle-snakes he took: to town. 
His dog's exploits — the glory of his kind ! 
Now gashed by bears, and lame, and almost blind ; 
Displayed his hat, with bullet-holes o'errun, 
To prove the many matches he had won. 
On powder, rifles, locks and balls enlarged, 
And a whole broadside on his art discharged. 

a A place in the Great Swamp, usually so called, from its low, 
hollow situation, overgrown with pine and hemlock trees of an 
enormous size, that almost shut out the light of day. 

t> Our host made himself very merry by relating to us an anec- 
dote of one of his neighbours, Jiving ten or twelve miles off, who, 
having fixed his large steel traps, in the evening, returned to the 
spot next morning, when to his terror he saw two panthers ( F< 
Couguar) surrounding a trap in which a very large one was taken 
by the leg. Afraid to hazard a shot, lest the surviving one who 
was at liberty might attack him, he hurried home, loaded another 
gun and gave it to his wife, an intrepid amazon, who immediately 
followed him to the scene. Arrived within forty or fifty yards, 
the hunter presented to take aim, but was so agitated with terror 
that he found himself altogether unable. His wife instantly knelt 
down before him, ordering him to rest the rifle on her shoulder, 
which he did, and by this expedient succeeded in killing the three. 

c Felis Montano, mountain lynx. Another species is also 
found among these mountains, and appears to be the F. rufa of 
Turton. I measured one that from the nose to the insertion of 
the tail, was upwards of three feet. 

@ ^ @ 



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Wilson's poems. 223 

The mother spun, the children snored around, 
And Sox, the landlord, still fresh stories found ; 
Our nodding heads the power of sleep confest, 
And the kind hunter led us to our rest. 

Once more the dawn aroused us to the road, 
Our fare discharged, we left this lone abode, 
And down, through deepening swamps, pursued our 

way, 
Where pines and hemlocks quite shut out the day ; 
Majestic solitudes ; all dead and deep ! 
The green moss matted o'er each mouldering heap ; 
On every side with watchful looks we spy, 
Each rustling leaf attracts our eager eye : 
Sudden the whirring tribe before us rise ! 
The woods resound — the fluttering partridge dies, a 
Light floating feathers hover on the gale, 
And the blue smoke rolls slowly through the vale. 
Again, slow stealing o'er the shaded road, 
Trailing their broad barred tails, two pheasants 

strode, b 
The levelled tube its fiery thunders poured, 
And deep around the hollow forest roared ; 
Low in the dust the mangled victims lie, 
And conscious triumph fills each traveller's eye. 

Now thickening rains begin to cloud the air, 
Our guns we muffle up — our only care ; 
Darker and heavier now the tempest lowered, 
And on the rattling leaves incessant poured ; 
The groaning trees in hollow murmurs waved ; 
And wild around the rising tempest raved ; 
Below dark drooping pines we onward tread, 
Where Bear Creek grumbles down his gloomy bed, 

a This is the tetrao virginianus of Limiceus. In the States of 
New-England it is called the quail. 

b The bird here called a pheasant, is the ruffed grous (tetrao 
ambcllus) of European naturalists. In New-England it is called 
the partridge. 



© 



224 Wilson's poems. 

Through darksome gulfs, where bats for ever skim, 
The haunts of howling wolves and panthers grim. 
At length two hovels through the pines appear, 
And from the pelting storm we shelter here. 
Two lank lean dogs pace o'er the loosened floor ; 
A pouch and rifle hung behind the door ; 
Shrill through the logs the whistling tempest beats, 
And the rough woodsman welcomes us to seats. 
Before the blazing pile we smoking stand, 
Our muskets glittering in the hunter's hand ; 
Now poised, now levelled to his curious eye ; 
Then in the chimney corner set to dry. 
Our clear, green powder flasks were next admired ; 
Our powder tasted, handled, nibbed, and fired ; 
Touched by the spark, lo 1 sudden blazes soar, 
And leave the paper spotless as before. 
From foaming Brandywine's rough shores it came, 
To sportsmen dear its merit and its name ; 
Dupont's a best Eagle, matchless for its power, 
Strong, swift and fatal as the bird it bore. 
Like Jove's dread thunderbolts it with us went, 
To pour destruction wheresoever sent. 
These, as they glistened careless by our side, 
With many a wishful look the woodsman eyed. 
Thus bears on beech nuts, hungry steeds on maize, 
Or cats on mice, or hawks on squirrels gaze. 
His proffered skins of all the forest train, 
His looks, and empty horn, implored in vain ! 
Till to a family's wants we freely gave 
What cold, hard hearted Prudence bade us save. 
And, now, this treasure on our host bestowed, 
His sunburnt visage at the present glowed ; 
New-moulded bullets quickly he prepared ; 
Surveyed the glistening grain with fixed regard, 

a A celebrated manufacturer of gunpowder on the Brandy- 
wine, whose packages are usually impressed with the figure of an 
eagle. 

& — ■ ■ 0)1 



@ 

wilson's poems. 225 

Then charged his rifle with the precious store, 
And threw the horn his brawny shoulders o'er, 
Secured his punk, his matches, flint and steel, 
The dogs in transport barking at his heel ; 
Then, in his blanket, bade his wife good-bye, 
For three long nights in dreary woods to lie. 
Our morsel ended, through the pouring rain, 
O'er barren mountains we proceed again ; 
And now Wyomi opened on our view, 
And far beyond, the Alleghany blue, 
Immensely stretched ; upon the plain below 
The painted roofs with gaudy colours glow, 
And Susquehanna's glittering stream is seen 
Winding in stately pomp through vallies green. 

Hail, charming river ! pure transparent flood ! 
Unstained by noxious swamps or choaking mud ; 
Thundering through broken rocks in whirling foam 
Or pleased o'er beds of glittering sand to roam ; 
Green be thy banks, sweet forest-wandering stream, 
Still may thy waves with finny treasures teem ; 
The silvery shad and salmon crowd thy shores, 
Thy tall woods echoing to the sounding oars ; 
On thy swoln bosom floating piles appear, 
Filled with the harvest of our rich frontier : 
The pine-browned cliffs, thy deep romantic vales, 
Where wolves now wander, and the panther wails, 
Where, at long intervals, the hut forlorn 
Peeps from the verdure of embowering corn, 
In future times (nor distant far the day) 
Shall glow with crowded towns and villas gay ; 
Unnumbered keels thy deepened course divide, 
And airy arches pompously bestride ; 
The domes of Science and Religion rise, 
And millions swarm where now a forest lies. 

Now up green banks, through level fields of grass, 
With heavy hearts the fatal spot we pass 



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226 wilson's poems. 

Where Indian rage prevailed, by murder fired, 
And warriors brave by savage hands expired ; 
Where bloody Butler's iron-hearted crew, 
Doomed to the flames the weak submitting few ; 
While screams of horror pierced the midnight wood, a 
And the dire axe drank deep of human blood, 
Obscured with mud, and drenched with soaking rain, 
Through pools of splashing mire we drove amain ; 
Night darkening round us ; when in lucky hour, 
Led by its light we reached a cottage door. 
There welcomed in we blest our happy lot, 
And all the drudgery of the day forgot. 
A noble fire its blazing front displayed 
Clean shelves of pewter dazzling round arrayed, 
Where rows of ruddy apples, ranged with care, 
With grateful fragrance filled the balmy air ; 
Our bard (chief orator in times like these,) 
Though frank, yet diffident, and fond to please, 
In broken German joked with all around, 
Told who we were, from whence and whither bound ; 
The cottage group a ready opening made, 
And " welcome friends," the little Dutchman said. 
Well pleased our guns and knapsacks we resigned, 
The adjoining pump, or running stream to find; 
There washed our boots, and entering, took our seat, 
Stript to the trowsers in the glowing heat. 
The mindful matron spread her table near, 
Smoking with meat, and filled with plenteous cheer ; 

a The massacre here alluded to, took place after the battle of 
3rd July, 1778, which was fought near this spot. The small 
body of American troops were commanded by that brave, hu- 
mane, and intelligent officer, Colonel Butler ; the tories and 
savages were headed by another Colonel Butler, of a very diffe- 
rent description. Were I disposed to harrow up the feelings of 
the reader, I might here enlarge on the particulars of this horrible 
affair ; but I choose to decline it. Those who wish to see a de- 
tail of the whole are referred to the Philadelphia Universal Ma- 
gazine for March 20, 1797, p. 390. 

<&=, — @ 



=@ 

wilson's poems. 227 

And supper o'er, brought forth and handed round 
A massy bowl with mellow apples crowned ; 
For all our wants a mother's care exprest, 
And pressed us oft, and picked us out the best ; 
But Duncan smiled, and slyly seemed to seek 
More tempting fruit in Susan's glowing cheek, 
Where such sweet innocence and meekness lay 
As fairly stole our pilot's heart away. 
He tried each art the evening to prolong, 
And cheered the passing moments with a song, 
So sadly tender, with such feeling raised, 
That all but Susan with profusion praised ; 
She from his glance oft turned her glistening eye, 
And paid in tears and many a stifled sigh. 

Thus passed the evening charmingly away, 
Each pleased and pleasing, innocent and gay, 
Till early bed-time summoned us to part, 
And Susan's glances spoke her captive heart. 

Swift flew the night, in soundest sleep enjoyed, 
By dawn we start and find all hands employed ; 
The wheel, the cards, by fire-light buzzing go ; 
The careful mother kneads her massy dough ; 
Even little Mary at her needle sits, 
And while she nurses pussy, nicely knits. 
Our generous friends their courtesy bestowed, 
Refused all price, and pointed out the road ; 
"With kindest wishes bade us all farewell ; 
What Susan felt, the rising tear could tell. 

Blest Hospitality ! the poor man's pride, 
The stranger's guardian, comforter, and guide, 
Whose cheering voice and sympathetic eye, 
Even angels honour as they hover nigh ; 
Confined (in mercy to our wandering race) 
To no one country, people, age, or place ; 
But for the homeless and the exiled lives, 
And smiles the sweeter still the more she gives. 



©= 



228 wilson's poems. 

O if on earth one spot I e'er can claim, 

One humble dwelling, even without a name, 

Do thou, blest spirit ! be my partner there, 

With sons of woe our little all to share ; 

Beside our fire the pilgrim's looks to see, 

That swim in moisture as he thinks on thee ; 

To hear his tales of wild woods wandering through; 

His ardent blessings as he bids adieu ; 

Then let the selfish hug their gold divine ! 

Ten thousand dearer pleasures shall be mine. 

The morning fogs that o'er the country lay, 
Dispersing, promised a delightful day, 
Clear, warm, serene ; the sun's resplendent beams, 
Plays on the rocks and from the river gleams, 
The cheerful robins a chattering round us fly, 
And crested wood-cocks b hammer from on high. 
Poor Duncan's sober looks and glistening eye, 
His broken sentences, and half-fetched sigh, 
His frequent backward gaze, and anxious mien, 
While Susan's sheltered cottage could be seen, 
Betrayed the thoughts that hovered through his 

breast, 
The fruitful source of many a rallying jest ; 
At length his song the echoing forest hailed. 
And laughing Comus over love prevailed. 

By Susquehanna's shores we journey on, 
Hemmed in by mountains, over mountains thrown, 
Whose vast declivities rich scenes display 
Of green pines mixed with yellow foliage gay ; 
Each gradual winding opening to the sight 
New towering heaps of more majestic height, 
Grey with projecting rocks; along whose steeps 
The sailing eagle c many a circle sweeps. 

a Turdus migrator ious. 

b Plcus pileatus, the great scarlet crested black woodpecker ; 
called also in some of the Southern States the log cock. 
c Falco leucocephalus, the white headed cr bald eagle. 



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— = - =@ 

wilson's poems. 229 

Few huts appeared ; the wretched few we spied 
Seemed caves where sloth and poverty reside ; 
The ragged owners happier far to hear 
Men, boys, and dogs arouse the bounding deer ; 
In fluttering rags, with scarce a hat or shoe, 
Down the rough steep the roaring chase pursue. 
To tree the bear ; the midnight wolf to watch ; 
Minx, otters, 'possums, or racoons to catch ; 
The bloody panther boldly to destroy, 
Their highest glory, and their greatest joy. 
While round each hut the richest soil is seen, 
Bleak squalid wretchedness is found within, 
Filth, want, and ignorance from sire to son, 
The sad attendants of the dog and gun ; 
As sage experience long ago has said, 
A good amusement, but a wretched trade. 

'Twas now deep noon, the winding pathway led 
Beneath tall maples near the river's bed, 
Where moss-grown logs in mouldering ruins lay, 
And spice and dogwood fringed the narrow way ; 
The scarlet berries clustering hung around, 
And mixed with yellow leaves bestrewed the ground ; 
There glistening lay, extended o'er the path, 
With steadfast piercing eye, and gathering wrath, 
A large grim rattlesnake, of monstrous size, 
Three times three feet in length enormous lies ; 
His pointed scales in regular rows engraved ; 
His yellow sides with wreaths of dusky waved ; 
Fixed to the spot, with staring eyes we stood ! 
He, slowly moving, sought the adjoining wood; 
Conscious of deadly power, he seemed to say, 
" Pass on; in peace let each pursue his way." 
But when th' uplifted musket met his view, 
Sudden in sounding coils his form he threw ! 
Fierce from the centre rose his flattened head, 
With quiveriDg tongue and eyes of fiery red, 

o 3 
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230 Wilson's poems. 

And jaws extended vast, where threatening lay 
The fangs of death in horrible array: 
While poised above, invisible to view, 
His whizzing tail in swift vibration flew. 
Back sprung our bard ! and, aiming to let fly, 
Glanced o'er the deadly tube his vengeful eye ; 
And now destruction seemed at once decreed ; 
But Duncan's pleading checked the barbarous deed ; 
" O spare the brave !" our generous pilot cried, 
" Let Mercy, sir ! let Justice now decide ; 
This noble foe, so terrible to sight, 
Though armed with death, yet ne'er provokes the 

fight; 
Stern, yet magnanimous, he forms his den 
Far from the noisy, dangerous haunts of men. 
Th' unconscious foot that presses him he spares, 
And what was harmless meant forgiving bears ; 

But dare his life Behold, he rises brave, 

To guard that being bounteous Nature gave. 
We are th' aggressors here ; the hero he ; 
Honour the brave defence of one to three !" 
He spoke. Three cheers the voice of Mercy hailed ; 
And heaven's most glorious attribute prevailed. 

Here, in deep glens, we groves of shellbarks found, 
And brought their thousands rattling to the ground. 
Here clustering grapes on bending saplings grew, 
And down the loaded vines we labouring drew ; 
The luscious fruit our vigorous toil repaid, 
And Bacchus' honours crowned us in the shade. 

Now Keeler's ferry heartily we hail, 
And o'er the clear expanse serenely sail ; 
High up th' adjacent banks again we go, 
The lessened river winding deep below ; 
Here rocky masses from the cliffs we tore, 
And down the mountain made them bounding roar 
Through tops of crashing pines, with whistling sound, 
Dashing the thundering waves in foam around. 



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wilson's poems. 231 

Now night drew on, dull owls began to scream, 
We crossed Tunkhannoc's slow and silent stream ; 
Lodged at a famished inn that near it stood, 
Of all things destitute save fire and wood ; 
Old Squares, the owner, indolent and poor, 
His house unshingled and without a door ; 
No meat, or drink, or bread, or liquor there ; 
As Afric's wilds, of every comfort bare. 
But Duncan's load across his cudgel cast, 
Fruits, birds, and beasts, bespeak a rich repast : 
While Leech's knapsack loaves of bread supplied, 
And mine a cordial for the heart beside. 
So, sans delay, all hands at once begin, 
Some pick the pheasants, some the squirrels skin, 
Soon o'er the fire our crackling nostrums brawl, 
And soon like hungry wolves to work we fall, 
Hew down the wheaten loaf, o'er whose thick side 
The ample sheets of yellow butter glide, 
While piles of bones like polished ivory rise, 
And the starved boors look on with wild surprise. 
Such blessed comforts health and hunger bring, 
The hunter feasts more nobly than the king, 
Whose sated appetite, by luxury cloyed, 
Even richest sauces satiate unenjoyed. 

The table cleared, our journal we survey, 
And minute down the wanderings of the day ; 
For fresh materials at our host inquire, 
Who broiled his brawny limbs before the fire. 
"What Township's this, old daddy?" "Why — hem 

— well ; 
Township ? The dickens, Sir, if I can tell ; 
Its Pennsylvania though" "Right, daddy Squares. 
Who are your nearest neighbours?" "Why, the 

bears." 
"No mill or school-house near you?" "Yes, we've 

one 
Beyond the church a piece, on Panther's Run. 
o 4 
© 



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232 wilson's poems. 

" Is church far distant, daddy ?" " Why — hem — no ; 

Down Susquehanna, twenty miles or so." 

" You go to preaching, then?" "Besure; that's clear ; 

We go to mill and meeting twice a-year." 

" No curiosities about ?" " Why— yes, 

You've brought a few of them yourselves, I guess." 

"What, dollars?" "Aye, and fi'-pennybits, I swear 

Are downright rarities among us here." 

Thus passed the evening till the time of bed, 

When to a kennel we at last were led ; 

There, slumbering, shivered till the dawn of day, 

Then cursed this scurvy cave, and marched away. 

Before us now in huge extension rise 
Dark wood-clad mountains of enormous size ; 
Surrounding fogs their towering summits hide, 
And sailing clouds, in silent grandeur, glide 
Around their airy cliffs. These we survey 
As dull forebodings of a cheerless day. 
Up steeps immense with labouring steps we bend, 
Then down in hollow gulfs for miles descend, 
Buried in depth of woods, obscure and dark, 
Where pheasants drum, and angry squirrels bark. 
With these (tho' rain in streaming torrents poured) 
Our pilot's pack abundantly we stored ; 
And when, at length, the driving tempest cleared, 
And through the woods a distant hut appeared, 
There, though the sour inbospitable clown 
Returned our smiles with many a surly frown, 
Compelled by Hunger, that imperious lord, 
We cooked our game, and shared our little board ; 
And left the savage boor, whose looks conveyed 
Dark hate and murder every move they made. 

Still through rude wilds with silent steps we steer, 
Intent on game, all eager eye and ear ; 
Each opening turn, each dark recess survey. 
Each mouldering heap that round tumultuous lay, 



<§>- 



— © 

Wilson's poems. 233 

As o'er those Alpine steeps we slowly past ; 

But all was silent, solitary, vast ! 

No sound of distant farm assailed the ear ; 

No rising smoke ; no opening fields appear ; 

But each high summit gained, the eye was shown 

Hills piled on hills in dreary prospect thrown. 

So, from the mast, when boisterous tempests roar, 

And the tost vessel labours far from shore, 

The toil-worn sailor ail around him spies 

One sea of mountains mingling with the skies. 

At length with vast descent we winding go, 

And see the river gliding deep below ; 

And up the vale, suspended o'er the path, 

A sign-board waving o'er the hut beneath; 

The straggling characters with soot pourtrayed, 

Defied awhile all efforts that we made ; 

At length we spelt this precious piece of lore ; 

" Pat Dougherty's Hotel and Drygood Store." 

Blest tidings ! welcome to the wandering wight, 

As sheltered harbours in a stormy night ; 

And thou, sweet Muse ! in lofty numbers tell 

The matchless comforts of this log hotel. 

Here streams of smoke the entering stranger greet ; 
Here man and beast with equal honours meet ; 
The cow loud bawling fills the spattered door ; 
The sow and pigs grunt social round the floor ; 
Dogs, cats, and ducks, in mingling groups appear, 
And all that filth can boast of riots here. 
Happy the hungry souls who hither speed ! 
Here, like cameleons, they may freely feed ; 
Here champ with vigorous jaws the empty air; 
Without a bottom find one broken chair ; 
On dirty benches snore the night away, 
And rise like thieves upon their judgment day. 
Ye threadbare pilgrims ! halt as ye pass by, 
This gorgeous store will all your wants supply ; 

o 5 



234 wilson's poems. 

Three long tobacco-pipes the shelf adorns ; 

Two rusty penknives fit to saw your corns ; 

One rag of calico in musty folds ; 

A stick of liquorice-ball for coughs and colds ; 

And one half keg of brandy, glorious cheer! 

Arrives from Philadelphia once a year. 

What boundless wealth, what can they wish for more, 

Who such a tavern meet, and such a store ? 

To crown the whole — defiled from ear to ear, 

Behold the majesty of clouts appear ; 

The ragged lord of all this costly scene, 

Whose hands and face old ocean scarce could clean ; 

Whose sun-burnt legs and arms and shoulders bore 

What once was coat and trowsers — such no more ! 

But shapeless fragments, gashed with holes profound, 

And rag-formed fringes dangling all around. 

Bent o'er a tub that once tobacco knew, 

And still from whence the dear effluvia flew, 

Pat grumbling stood ; and while he eager viewed, 

Each nook and seam, the scanty gleanings chewed ; 

His busy mouth such savoury joys exprest 

That scarce our stifled laughter we supprest. 

On this foul mass of misery as we gazed, 

The man of rags his brandy loudly praised ; 

Leech sought the door, disgusted with the scene, 

And Duncan followed, grasping hard his cane ; 

Our bard alone, with pleasure in his face, 

Silent surveyed the wonders of the place, 

In whose vile groups he but a picture saw, 

That all might marvel at, but few could draw. 

Though long and rough the road before us rose, 

And toil and evening urged us to repose, 

Yet were the forest glooms at once preferred 

To this vile Hottentot's most beastly herd. 

So thence, up towering steeps again we scale, 
And trace the depths of many a darksome vale ; 



© 



wilson's poems. 235 

While oft some oak's huge, antiquated form, 
That through long ages had defied the storm ; 
Whose hollow trunk had lodged the skulking bear, 
While owls and 'possums found concealment there, 
Rose like the ruins of some reverend pile, 
While moss and lichens its hoar arms defile ; 
Great in distress it mouldering drops away, 
Time's mournful monitor of life's decay. 
Night's shades at last descend — the stars appear — 
Dull barking dogs proclaim the village near ; 
Soon Wyalusing round us we survey, 
And finished here the labours of the day. 
The inn was silent, not a mortal there, 
Before the fire each plants his crazy chair, 
When slow down stairs a cautious step was heard, 
And Job, the landlord, soberly appeared ; 
Begged our excuse — bewailed his luckless lot, 
" Wife in the straw, and every thing forgot ;" 
So finding honest Job so hard bestead, 
We skinned our squirrels, supped, and went to bed. 

The morning dawned, again we took the road, 
Each musket shouldered o'er the lightened load, 
Through Wyalusing' s plains we gaily pass, 
'Midst matted fields of rank luxuriant grass. 
Here Nature bounteous to excess has been, 
Yet loitering hunters scarce a living glean ; 
Blest with a soil that, even in winter day, 
Would all their toils a hundred fold repay. 
Few cultured fields of yellow grain appear, 
Rich fenceless pastures rot unheeded here. 
Huge from the vale the towering walnuts grow, 
And wave o'er wretched huts that lie below. 
No blossomed orchards scent their opening May, 
No bleating flocks upon their pastures play ; 
"The wolves," say they, "would soon our flocks 

destroy, 
And planting orchards is a poor employ." 



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236 Wilson's poems. 



The hungry traveller, dining on this plain, 
May ask for fowls, and wish for eggs in vain ; 
And while he dines upon a flitch of hear, 
To wolves and foxes leave more gentle fare. 

Now down through hoary woods we scour along, 
Bousing the echoes with our jovial song, 
Through paths where late the skulking Indian trod, 
Smeared with the infant's and the mother's blood. 
Their haunts no more : far to the setting day, 
In western woods their prowling parties stray, 
Where vast Superior laves his drifted shores, 
Or loud Niagara's thundering torrent roars ; 
Gaul's exiled royalists, a pensive train, 
Here raise the hut, and clear the rough domain ; 
The way-worn pilgrim to their fires receive, 
Supply his wants, but at his tidings grieve ; 
Afflicting news for ever on the wing, 
A ruined country and a murdered king ! 
Peace to their lone retreats, while sheltered here, 
May these deep shades to them be doubly dear ; 
And power's proud worshippers, wherever placed, 
Who saw such grandeur ruined and defaced, 
By deeds of virtue to themselves secure 
Those inborn joys that spite of kings endure, 
Though thrones and states from their foundations 

part: 
The precious balsam of a blameless heart. 

All day up winding solitudes we past, 
Steep hung o'er steep, as if at random cast ; 
Through every opening towering groups were seen 
Piled to the clouds, with horrid gulphs between ; 
Thus, as the bard of old creation sings, 
'Mongst other marvellous scenes and mighty things, 
When squabbling angels raised in heaven a rout, 
And hills uprooted flew like hail about, 
Thus looked, in those tremendous days of yore, 
Their field of battle when the fight was o'er, 

@— =- - = 



wilson's poems. 237 

Impending cliffs with ruined woods o'ergrown, 
And mountains headlong over mountains thrown. 

One vast pre-eminent ascent we scaled, 
And high at last its level summit hailed, 
There, as we trod along fatigued and slow, 
Through parting woods the clouds appeared below, 
And lo ! at once before our ravished view, 
A scene appeared, astonishing and new. 
Close on the brink of an abyss we stood, 
Concealed till now by the impending wood ; 
Below, at dreadful depth, the river lay, 
ShruDk to a brook, 'midst little fields of hay ; 
From right to left, where'er the prospect led, 
The reddening forest like a carpet spread ; 
Beyond, immense, to the horizon's close, 
Huge amphitheatres of mountains rose. 
Charmed with this spot, our knapsacks we resigned, 
And here, like gods, in airy regions dined ; 
Like gods of old the cordial cup we quaffed, 
Sung songs to liberty, and joked and laughed ; 
Huzza'd aloud — then listening from on high, 
If haply slumbering echo would reply. 
A long dead pause ensued — at once the sound 
In tenfold shouts from distant hills rebound ; 
Not Polyphemus' self e'er louder roared, 
When burning goads his monstrous visage gored. 
" Huzza, huzza !" the echoing mountains cry ; 
" Huzza, huzza !" more distant hills reply ; 
And still more distant, till the faint huzza, 
In lessening shouts, successive died away. 
Surprised, astonished — heedless of our meal, 
We seized our muskets for a nobler peal, 
Filled their dark bowels with the glistening grain, 
And facing, pointed to the extended scene ; 
Then at the word their fiery thunders poured, 
That through the wide expanse impetuous roared. 



U 



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288 wilson's foems. 

Deep silence hung — the loud returning roar 
From bellowing mountains thunders o'er and o'er ; 
Peal after peal successive bursts away, 
And rolls tremendous o'er the face of day ; 
From hill to hill the loud responses fly, 
And in the vast horizon lessening die. a 
Thus from Olympus, o'er a prostrate world, 
The fabled Jove his bolts imperious hurled ; 
Earth heard, and echoed back the peals profound, 
And heaven's exalted regions shook around. 
With deep reluctance, ne'er to be forgot, 
And many a lingering look, we left this spot, 
Since called Olympus, worthier of the name 
Than that so blazoned by the trump of fame. 
Ye souls ! whom nature's glorious works delight, 
Who chance to pass o'er this stupendous height, 
Here turn aside ; and if serene the day, 
This cliff sublime will all your toils repay ; 
Here regions wide your ravished eye will meet, 
Hills, rivers, forests, lying at your feet : 
Here to Columbia make your muskets roar, 
While heaven's artillery thunders back encore. 

'Twas now dull twilight, trudging on we keep, 
Where giddy Breakneck nods above the steep ; 
And down the dark'ning forest slowly steer, 
Where woods receding, showed a dwelling near. 

a This echo may be considered as one of the greatest curiosi- 
ties of this part of the country. — After more than a quarter of a 
minute had elapsed, the sound was reverberated with astonishing 
increase, at least ten successive times, each time more and more 
remote, till at last it seemed to proceed from an immense dis- 
tance. The word, or words were distinctly articulated ; as if 
giants were calling to one another from mountain to mountain. 
When our guns were discharged at once, the effect was still more 
astonishing, and I scarcely believe, that a succession of broad- 
sides from a train of seventy fours, at like distances, in any other 
place, would have equalled it. The state of the atmosphere was 
very favourable ; and the report roared along the clouds in one 
continued peal. 

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Wilson's poems. 239 

A painted frame, tall barracks filled with hay, 

Clean white-washed railings raised along the way, 

Young poplars, mixed with weeping willows green, 

Rose o'er the gate, and fringed the walk within ; 

An air of neatness, gracing all around, 

Bespoke that courtesy we quickly found ; 

The aged Judge, in grave apparel dressed, 

To cushioned chairs invites each weary guest ; 

O'er the rich carpet bids the table rise, 

With all the sweets that India's clime supplies ; 

And supper served with elegance, the glass 

In sober circuit was allowed to pass. 

The reverend sire, with sons and grandsons round, 

Ruddy as health, by summer sun's embrowned, 

Inquires our road and news with modest mien, 

Tells of the countries he himself had seen ; 

His Indian battles, midnight ambuscades; 

Wounds and captivity in forest glades, 

And with such winning, interesting store, 

Of wild- wood tales and literary lore, 

Beguiled the evening and engaged each heart, 

That though sleep summoned, we were loath to part ; 

And ev'n in bed reposed, the listening ear 

Seemed still the accents of the sage to hear. 

The morning came ; ye gods ! how quickly hies 
To weary folks the hour when they must rise ! 
Groping around we fix our various load, 
And full equipt forth issued to the road ; 
Inured to toil, the woods slide swiftly past ; 
O'er many an opening farm our eyes we cast. 
Here rich flat meadows most luxuriant lie, 
Some glowing orchards gladly we espy, 
Full-loaded peach trees drooping hung around, 
Their mellow fruit thick scattered o'er the ground ; 
Six cents procured us a sufficient store, 
Our napkins crammed and pockets running o'er ; 

p 2 



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240 wilson's poems. 

Delicious fare ! Nor did we prize them less 
Than Jews did manna in the wilderness. 
Still journeying on, the river's brink we keep, 
And pass the Narrow's high and dangerous steep, 
That to the clouds like towering Atlas soars, 
While deep below the parted river roars. 
Beyond its eastern stream, on level lands, 
There Athens (once Tioga) straggling stands ; 
Unlike that Athens known in days of old, 
Where learning found more worshippers than gold, 
Here waste, unfinished, their sole school-house lies, 
While pompous taverns all round it rise. 

Now to the left the ranging mountains bend, 
And level plains before us wide extend, 
Where rising lone, old Spanish-hill a appears, 
The post of war in ancient unknown years ; 
Its steep and rounding sides with woods embrowned, 
Its level top with old entrenchments crowned ; 
Eive hundred paces thrice we measure o'er 
Ere all their circling boundaries we explore; 
Now overgrown with woods alone it stands, 
And looks abroad o'er open fertile lands. 
Here on the works we ruminating lay, 
Till sudden darkness muffled up the day ; 
The threatening storm soon drove us to the plain, 
And on we wandered through the woods again. 
For many a mile through forests deep we passed, 
Till girdled trees rose to the view at last ; 
The fence and field successively appear, 
And jumbling cow-bells speak some cottage near; 
Anon the sounding axe, the yelping dogs, 
The ploughman's voice, the sight of snorting hogs, 

a This detached mountain stands near the line which separates 
New-York from Pennsylvania, not far from the public road, is of 
a conical form, and may be between two and three hundred feet 
high. 

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wilson's poems. 241 

And sudden opening on the ravished eye, 
Green fields, green meadows, gardens, orchards, lie 
In rich profusion round the cottage neat, 
Log-built ; but Peace and Industry's retreat. 
Here down green glades the glittering streams de- 
scend ; 
Here loaded peach trees o'er the fences bend ; 
Deep flowery pastures clothe the steeps around, 
Where herds repose, and playful coursers bound. 
The groaning cider-press is busy heard, 
The fowls loud cackling swarm about the yard, 
The snowy geese harangue their numerous brood, 
The flapping flail re-echoes through the wood, 
And all around that meets the eye or ear, 
Proclaims the power that spreads its influence here. 
Hail, rural Industry ! man's sturdiest friend, 
To thee each virtue must with reverence bend; 
To thee what heart denies spontaneous praise, 
From gloomy woods such glorious scenes to raise ! 
Great giver of God's gifts to man below ! 
Through whose rough hand all human blessings flow, 
Here as in ancient and illustrious Rome, 
May chiefs and heroes cheer thy humble home ; 
The wise, the brave, from public broils retreat, 
To walk with heaven and thee through arbours sweet, 
To share thy toils, thy little plans inspire, 
And joke at night around thy glowing fire. 
Still near thy hut, upon the flowery green, 
May Temperance, Hope, and Cheerfulness be seen ; 
Health, Plenty, Innocence, thy temples crown, 
And Peace each night embosom thee in down ; 
And still, where'er thy humble roofs arise, 
In northern climes, or under burning skies, 
May guardian Liberty thy fields enclose, 
Befriend thy friends, and baffle all thy foes. 
Cheered with the rural sweets on every side, 
Slow through this charming vale we gaily glide. 



=© 



242 wilson's poems. 

Delightful spot ! from stormy winds secured, 
By mountains sheltered and in wilds immured ; 
Still as we pass rich level fields appear ; 
Chemung's huge barns and fertile farms draw near. 
How changed those scenes from what so late they 

were; 
Ere Freedom's banners waved triumphant here ; 
While o'er our coasts a powerful foe prevailed, 
Here from behind the savages assailed ; 
In bloody bands ransacked our weak frontier, 
Fire, rapine, murder, marked their fell career. 
Amid his corn the gasping planter fell, 
Deep sunk the axe, and direful rose the yell ; 
The midnight cottage, wrapt in sweet repose, 
In naming ruins with the morning rose ; 
There slaughtered corses, babes and fathers lay, 
The naked mothers driven 'mid fiends away. 
To thee, brave Sullivan ! who scourged this crew, 
Thy country's gratitude shall still be due ; 
And future ages on these summits rear 
Honours to him who planted freedom here. 

We pause to mark amid this valley green 
How changed the tenant, how improved the scene ! 
Where wretched wigwams late like kennels stood, 
Where bark canoes stole skulking o'er the flood, 
Where mangled prisoners groaned, and hatchets 

glared, 
And blood-stained savages the fire prepared ; 
There glittering towns and villages extend, 
There floating granaries in fleets descend, 
There x>loughmen chant, and mowers sweep the soil, 
And taverns shine, and rosy damsels smile. 
Thanks to the brave, who through these forests bore 
Columbia's vengeance on the sons of gore ; 
Who drove them howling thro' th' affrighted waste, 
Till British regions sheltered them at last. 

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wilson's poems. 243 

Here, on the heights, where suddenly arrayed, 
These hordes their last despairing effort made, 
Where still the mould'ring breastwork meets the view, 
From whose defence as suddenly they flew, a 
Here, on the approach of night we lodgings found, 
And buried all our toils in sleep profound. 

The lingering night still hung in drowsy gloom, 
Mustering our loads we pace the darkened room, 
With tedious groping find at last the door, 
And down the narrow stair our way explore ; 
Dull fogs and darkness o'er the country lay ; 
But guiding fences pointed out the way. 
In cheerful chat we marched along, till morn, 
On dewy wings from eastern regions borne, 
Eose on the world, and o'er the landscape gay, 
'Midst songs of joyous birds, led on the day. 
Two whirring pheasants swept across our path, 
And swift as lightning flew the fiery death. 
A cloud of quails in rising tumult soar ; 
Destruction follows with resounding roar. 
From bough to bough the scampering squirrels bound, 
But soon, in smoky thunders, bite the ground ; 
Life's gushing streams, their sable furs defile, 
And Duncan's stick sustains the bloody spoil. 
Thus up Tioga's side we thundering steered, 
Till Newtown glittering on its banks appeared ; 

a In this expedition against the hostile Indians, which was com- 
mitted to the management of general Sullivan, and crowned with 
the most complete success, the only stand made by the savages 
was at this place, 29th August, 1799. After a short skirmish they 
were driven from this their last hold, and pursued beyond the 
Gennessee river. Forty of their towns, and upwards of 160,C00 
bushels of Indian corn were destroyed. The remnant of the 
tribes took refuge in Canada ; and thus an immense extent of 
the most fertile country of the United States was laid open to the 
enterprise of our active and industrious settlers. The white popu- 
lation of these parts of the State of New- York, settled since, may 
be fairly estimated at three times the number of all the Indians 
within five hundred miles of the place. 



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244 wilson's poems. 

Where opening hills retiring, wide display, 

On level plains a city rising gay ; 

Eanged on the northern bank, so smooth and green, 

Rich busy stores and waving signs are seen ; 

With crowding boats that here for freight attend, 

And deeply loaded to the sea descend. 

Here, when soft Spring dissolves the waste of snows, 

And wide and deep the roaring river flows, 

Huge loaded arks a rush down the boiling tide, 

And winding through wild woods triumphant ride, 

Hills, towering steeps and precipices high, 

Rich plains and hanging rocks behind them fly ; 

The watchful pilot every eddy eyes, 

As down the torrent's foaming course he flies ; 

Views with stern look, the frightful falls disclose, 

And down the outrageous breakers headlong goes ; 

A thousand toils, a thousand dangers past, 

Columbia's 13 harbour shelters them at last. 

With lingering steps the busy streets we trace, 
Pleased with the prospect of this growing place ; 
Though now so gay, scarce fifteen years had flown 
Since two log huts were all that it could own ; 
Since waving reeds and scrubby ground- oak grew 
Where stores and taverns now arrest the view. 

a These vessels are constructed of oak and pine plank, and 
built in the form of a parallelogram ; they are flat bottomed, and 
strongly floored ; and capable of containing many thousand 
bushels of wheat each ; sometimes droves of oxen compose part 
of their cargoes. On arriving at their place of destination, and 
the cargo disposed of, the arks are sold to the lumber dealers, 
and taken to pieces with little trouble. 

b The town of Columbia, on the north-east bank of the Sus- 
quehanna, at Wright's ferry, ten miles from Lancaster, is the 
great depot for those immense stores of wheat, flour, lumber, &c, 
brought down the river for an extent of more than three hundred 
miles. The bridge which it is in contemplation to erect over 
the Susquehanna, near this town, will be an additional source of 
prosperity to this thriving and populous place. 



= © 



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wilson's poems. 245 

Around the tree where panthers lurked for prey, 
Now evening groups of laughing children play ; 
And churches neat their pious crowds enclose 
Where Indian fires and midnight yells arose. 
So wonder-working is the hand of toil, 
When Heaven has blest and Freedom guards the soil, 
And streams so vast their powerful aid bestow 
To float down plenty wheresoe'er they flow. 
Now to the north, through open plains, we wind, 
And leave the river's bending course behind ; 
And now, where level lengthening meadows spread, 
Through hazel thickets rapidly we tread, 
Here, when descending rain in torrents pour, 
And the broad meadows float from shore to shore, 
In two wide routes their waters seek the main ; 
Part through St. Lawrence meets the sea again, 
Part to the south pursues its wandering way, 
And rolls to Chesapeake's capacious bay. a 

Now dark before us gulfs of pines are seen, 
That bear the name still of their Indian Queen ; 
Great Catherine's Swamps, that deepening round 

extend, 
Down whose dun glooms we awfully descend ; 
Around us thick the crowding pillars soar, 
Surpassing all we ever viewed before, 
So straight, so tall, so tow'ring side by side, 
Each, in itself, appears the forest's pride, 
A thousand fleets, with twice ten thousand more, 
May here find masts in everlasting store. 
Here melancholy monks might moping dwell, 
Nor ray of sunshine ever reach their cell. 

a In a matter-of-fact poem, such as this, I need hardly observe, 
that the above is literally true. The proprietor of part of this 
meadow assured me, that with his spade he could, at pleasure, 
send the waters either into the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, or the 
Chesapeake Bay. A species of salmon, common to the river 
Susquehanna and to the Lake Ontario, has been frequently 
known to pass from one to the other by this communication. 



@ — -® 

246 wilson's poems. 

Through the dead twilight, reigning horrid here, 
In holy groans their relics sad revere. 
Great solitary shades ! so still and deep, 
Even passing sighs in hollow murmurs creep ! 
The silence deep, the solemn gloom profound, 
The venerable piles that rise around, 
Such awe impress, that as we upward gaze, 
In whispers low we murmur our amaze ! 
Here to the god, a whose keen voracious brood 
Pursue the pilgrim ravenous for food, 
With stump of pine an altar we uprear, 
And round its mouldering roots arranged appear; 
There bread, cheese, meat, with liberal hand we laid, 
And, like true priests, devoured the offering made ; 
The power appeased, in silence soon withdrew, 
And left us braced with vigorous life anew. 

All day thro' this deep swamp, in splattered plight ; 
Begulfed in mire we laboured on till night, 
When lo, emerging from the opening wood, 
'Midst narrow fields, a little cottage stood ! 
A mill hard by in clattering murmur played ; 
Before the door a rapid rivulet strayed ; 
Trees round the garden bent with apples hung, 
And cows and sheep their twinkling music rung. 
Sacred to peace it seemed, and calm repose, 
And here, well pleased, our night's retreat we chose ; 
Approached the door, presented our request, 
The dame's kind looks already bade us rest ; 
And soon the landlord, entering with his train, 
Confirmed her kindness o'er and o'er again. 
And now the table showed its welcome head, 
With cheering fare, and rural dainties spread ; 
Green sparkling tea, obscured with floating cream ; 
Delicious salmon from the neighbouring stream ; 
Nice cakes of wheaten flour, so crisp and good, 
And piles of honeycombs, ambrosial food ! 
a Hunger. 

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Wilson's poejis. 247 

While in the cheerful looks of all around, 
A still more pleasing, grateful treat we found. 
Our host intelligent, and fond of news, 
Long tales of trade and politics pursues ; 
The State's enlarging bounds, so mighty grown, 
That even the bare extent remains unknown ; 
Of Europe's wars and Bonaparte's glories, 
Wolves, rifles, Louisiana, whigs and tories ; 
Of bears and wildcats, many a tale relates, 
With every circumstance of place and dates ; 
Till leaden sleep our weary eyes assailed, 
And spite of eloquence at length prevailed. 

The following morning found us on the way, 
Through woods of walnut trees conversing gay, 
Whose limbs enormous spread sublime around, 
Their huge forefathers mouldering on the ground ; 
The soil with leaves and showers of nuts was spread, 
While millions more hung yellow overhead. 
Here maples towered with little troughs below, 
From whose gashed sides nectarious juices flow, 
The half-burnt logs, and stakes erected near, 
Showed that the sugar camp once flourished here. a 
Ye generous woodsmen ! let this bounteous tree, 
Eor ever sacred from your axes be ; 
let not mangling wounds its life destroy ! 
But the nice auger for the axe employ ; 
So shall these trees for ages lift their head, 
And green and fresh their thickening foliage spread ; 
And each returning Spring their tribute pour, 
More rich, and more abundant than before. 

a In passing among these stately and noble trees, which grow 
here in great luxuriance, it is an object of regret to observe how 
unmercifully their trunks are cut and gashed with the axe ; 
many of these notches are so deep, that the trees have either 
been killed, or overthrown by the first storm of wind. It is well 
known that all this chopping is unnecessary ; and that a small 
auger-hole is equally efficient, nowise injurious to the tree, ard 
may be done in one tenth part of the time. 
p3 



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248 Wilson's poems. 

Now opening woods, in circuit wide, display, 
A level vale with lawns and pastures gay, 
Where music hailed us from a numerous brood, 
The lone bells j umbling through the sounding wood ; 
Sheep, oxen, cows, in busy parties strayed, 
While snorting steeds our passing steps surveyed ; 
Surrounding hills this peaceful place inclose, 
And form a scene of sheltered sweet repose. a 
Ah ! melancholy scene, though once so dear 
To the poor Indian haply wandering here, 
Whose eye forlorn, amid the gushing flood, 
Beholds the spot where once his wigwam stood, 
Where w r arriors' huts in smoky pride were seen, 
His nation's residence — his native green, 
Methinks, even now, where yon red maples play, 
The black-haired wanderer slowly bends his way, 
And pensive stops, and heaves the stifled sigh, 
As well known objects meet his rueful eye ; 
No words escape him, but while memory grieves, 
These gloomy thoughts his burdened heart relieves : 

" O happy days ! for ever, ever gone, 
When these deep woods to white men were unknown ; 
Then the Great Spirit gave us from on high, 
A plain broad path, and an unclouded sky ; 
Then herds of deer in every thicket lay, 
Peace blessed our nights, and plenty crowned our day ; 
But now dark clouds around our nation roar, 
The path is lost ; we see the sun no more : 

a This Indian town, Catherine, situated near the head of the 
Seneca Lake, in one of the most delightful and romantic spots 
imaginable, contained a great number of houses, with large 
orchards and extensive corn fields. It was totally destroyed in 
1779, by the troops under the command of general Sullivan, who, 
entering the place at night, found it nearly deserted of its inha- 
bitants. One miserable old squaw alone remained, who, from 
extreme old age, was incapable of walking, and looked like "the 
last survivor of the former age." The general ordered a hut to 
be erected for her, with provisions for her subsistence ; but she 
did not long survive the catastrophe of her nation. 
^ >====== ========== 



=<§> 



wilson's poems. 249 

A poor lone wanderer here unhappy raves, 
Returned once more to see his fathers' graves ; 
Where all he sees bereaves his heart of rest, 
And sinks like poisoned arrows in his breast. 

" Here stood the tree, beneath whose awful shade, 
Our aged chiefs the nation's welfare weighed ; 
In these sweet woods my early days I spent, 
There through the hare the quivering arrow sent ; 
Or stealing wary by that creek so clear, 
Transfixed the struggling salmon with my spear. 
Here rose our fires in many a towering flame, 
When the young hunters found abundant game ; 
The feast, the dance, whole days and nights employ, 
These hills resounding with our screams of joy. 
There, on that bank our painted warriors stood, 
Their keen knives reddened with the white men's 

blood. 
Now all is lost, and sacrilege is spread ; 
Curst ploughs profane the mansions cf the dead ! 
Our warriors wander on a distant shore, 
And strangers triumph where they begged before." 
Indignant sorrow rushes on his soul, 
And in wild agony his eye-balls roll. 
Wrapt in his rug the forest he regains, 
A homeless exile on his native plains. 

Howe'er stern prejudice these woes may view, 
A tear to Nature's tawny sons is due ; 
The same false virtue and ambitious fire, 
Which nations idolize, and kings admire, 
Provoke the white man to the bloody strife, 
And bid the Indian draw his deadly knife ; 
The glory ours, in victory to save, 
His still to glut with every foe the grave ; 
Nor age nor sex his country's foe avails, 
So strong this passion o'er the rest prevails ; 
And equal woes must wring his manly heart, 
From native shades for ever forced to part. 



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250 wilson's poems. 

Through this sweet vale that wooded hills enclose, 
A clear deep stream in glassy silence flows; 1 
There sportive trout disturb the dimpling tide, 
And shoals of salmon, pike, and suckers glide ; 
Thick vines and sycamores in rich array, 
Bend o'er its banks, and mark its winding way ; 
Gigantic walnuts bare and blasted rise, b 
And stretch their bleached arms midway to the skies ; 
There sits the hawk, c inured to feasts of blood, 
Watching the scaly tenants of the flood, 
Or listening pensive to the distant roar 
Of yon white falls that down the mountain pour ; 
Thence to the lake broad level marshes spread, 
Where close rank weeds conceal the musk rat's bed ; 
Above, around, in numerous flocks are seen 
Long lines of ducks o'er this their fav'rite scene ; 
Some to the lake in wedged divisions bend ; 
Some o'er the creek in lengthening showers descend. 
Ah, how could sportsman such a sight survey, 
Nor seek to share the pleasures of the day ? 
Do well-drest beauties shun theatric walls ? 
Or sleeps the swain when his own sweetheart calls ? 
A skiff and paddles near the landing lay, 
Two striplings proffered to conduct my way. 

a Catherine's Creek, which forms the head waters of the Seneca 
Lake, and falls into its southern extremity. From this lake to 
the landing, a distance of about five miles, the creek is navigable 
for large loaded boats. The country between this place and 
Newtown, on the Susquehanna, is generally level ; and the dis- 
tance, in a direct line, is probably not more than twenty miles. 
The practicability of uniting these two waters by a canal, at a 
comparatively small expense, and the immense advantages that 
would result from the completion of such an undertaking, have 
long been evident to all those acquainted with that part of the 
country. 

b Some of these trees, owing to the richness of the soil, grow 
to an extraordinary size. I measured one that was nearly thirty 
feet in circumference. 

c The fishing hawk, or osprey ; differing considerably from the 
bird of that name in Europe. 



wilson's poems. 251 

Fixed in the bow for slaughter I prepare, 
The deadly barrels ready poised in air ; 
Slow round an opening point we softly steal, 
"Where four large ducks in playful circles wheel, 
The far-famed " canvass-backs" a at once we know, 
Their broad flat bodies wrapt in pencilled snow ; 
The burnished chesnut o'er their necks that shone, 
Spread deepening round each breast a sable zone ; 
Wary they gaze — our boat in silence glides, 
The slow-moved paddles steal along the sides ; 
Quick flashing thunders roar along the flood, 
And three lie prostrate vomiting their blood ! 
The fourth aloft on whistling pinions soared, 
One fatal glance the fiery thunders poured — 
Prone drops the bird amid the dashing waves, 
And the clear stream his glossy plumage laves. 
Now all around us rising trains appear, 
Wild whistling wings on every hand we hear ; 
The alarm of death amid their legions spread, 
In files immense they winnow overhead ; 
Hoarse heavy geese scream up the distant sky, 
And ail the thunders of our boat defy ; 
Close under rustling vines we skulking glide, 
Till the loud uproar and alarm subside ; 
Here grapes delicious, clustering, hung around, 
The mother vine through bending birches wound ; 
Not richer ripen on Vesuvius' side, 
Than here spontaneous nodded o'er the tide. 

Now all again is silent and serene, 
Slow glides our skiff along the glassy scene ; 
O'er the flat marsh we mark the plovers' sweep, 
And clustering close, their wheeling courses keep, 

a These celebrated and justly esteemed ducks appear to be the 
Anas Ferina of Lin. From the great abundancy of their fa- 
vourite food, (the roots of the Valiseneria Americana,) in the 
tide waters of many of our large rivers, it is probable that their 
flesh is much more delicious here than in Europe. 
p f) 






252 wilson's poems. 

Till, like a tempest, as they past us roar, 
Whole crowds descend, to rise again no more. 
Prone on the sand the snowy tribe are spread, 
Then hove on board, and piled among the dead. 
Beyond a point, just opening to the view, 
A fleet of ducks collect their scattered crew ; 
Part soon alarmed, with sudden spattering soar, 
The rest remaining seek the farther shore ; 
There 'cross a neck, concealed by sheltering vines, 
Down the smooth tide I view their floating lines : 
With sudden glance the smoky vengeance pour, 
And death and ruin spread along the shore ; 
The dead and dying mingling, float around, 
And loud the shoutings of my guides resound. 

But now the lake a wide opening spreads below, 
Bright o'er its smooth expanse the sun-beams glow, 
There downward skies in concave vast appear, 
And circling wide complete one boundless sphere ; 
Far spreading forests from its shores ascend, 
And tow'ring headlands o'er the flood impend ; 
These, deep below, in softened tints are seen, 
Where Nature smiles upon herself serene. 

" O lovely scenes !" in ecstacy I cried, 
" That sink to nothing all the works of pride ! 
What are the piles that puny mortals rear, 
Their temples, towers, however great or fair, 
Their mirrors, carpets, tapestry and state, 
The nameless toys that fashion's fools create, 
To this resplendant dome of earth and sky, 
Immensely stretched ! immeasurably high ! 
Those yellow forests, tinged with glowing red, 
So rich around in solemn grandeur spread ; 

a The Seneca Lake. This beautiful sheet of water is about 40 
miles long, by from one and a half to three miles in breadth. The 
shores are generally precipitous, consisting of a brittle blue slate, 
in which many curious impressions of marine shells are perceiv- 
able. In a short search I found upwards of twenty. 

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WILSON S POEMS. 



253 



Where here and there, in lazy columns rise, 
The woodman's smoke, like incense to the skies ! 
This heaven-reflecting lake, smooth, clear, profound, 
And that primeval peace that reigns around ! 
As well may worms compare with souls divine, 
As Art, O Nature ! match her works with thine. 

Now high in heaven the hastening sun had sped, 
My comrades, too, were trudging far ahead, 
Piled at my feet enough of carnage lay, 
So slow to shore we cut our liquid way. 
There, where a hill the level marsh confines, 
Lifts its rough front, and o'er the lake reclines, 
Where glittering through the trees that rise below, 
A brawling cataract falls in sheets of snow, 
Prone from the precipice, and steals unseen, 
Through birchen thickets to the lake serene, 
While softened echoes join in cadence sweet, 
And sheltering scenery form a blest retreat ; 
There, on the slaty shore, my spoils I spread, 
Ducks, plover, teal, the dying and the dead ; 
Two snow-white storks, a a crane of tawny hue, 
Stretched their long necks amid the slaughtered crew ; 
A hawk b whose claws, white tail, and dappled breast, 
And eye, his royal pedigree confest ; 
Snipes, splendid summer-ducks, c and divers wild, 

a Ardea Alba of Lin. These are only summer birds, and very 
transient visitants in these northern regions. 

b The white tailed eagle ( Falco fulvus) so much sought after 
by the Indians of North America, for its quill and tail feathers, 
with which they plume their arrows, ornament their calumet, and 
adorn their dresses. It inhabits from Hudson's Bay to Mexico. 

c Called by some the wood-duck {Anas Sponsa), the most 
beautiful of its tribe in North America. They are easily tamed, 
and become very familiar. About thirty-five years ago, a Mr. 
Nathan Nicholls, who resided in Maryland, on the west side of 
Gunpowder river, succeeded completely in domesticating these 
ducks, so that they bred and multiplied with him in great num- 
bers. In their wild state they build in hollow trees, and fly di- 
rectly in, without alighting at the entrance. 
Q 



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254 wilson's poems. 

In one high heap triumphantly I piled ; 

Then joining heads that ne'er were joined before, 

Across my gun the feathery burden bore ; 

Sought out the path that scaled the mountain's side, 

Farewell ! " Goodbye !" the smiling younkers cried ; 

Up through the incumbent shades I took my way, 

They to their boat with glittering dollar gay. 

The day was hot, the load of ponderous size, 
To heaven's own gates the mountain seemed to rise ; 
Large ruined logs the winding labyrinth crost, 
And soon the path in tangling brush was lost. 
Up these rough steeps I bore my plunder through, 
That still more prized and more oppressive grew, 
Till drenched with sweat, I gained the mountain's 

head, 
And steered as chance or blind conjecture led; 

Tilled the deep forest with the shouts I made, 
That died, unanswered, through the distant shade ; 

While startled squirrels, mounting in affright, 

Looked down, and chattered, at th' alarming sight. 

At length two guns, that made the mountain roar, 

Produced an answering peal from those before ; 

And ten long miles in doubt and drudgery past, 

I reached my comrades and the road at last ; 

Where peals of mirth succeeding their amaze, 

They shared my load, and loaded me with praise. 
Beyond the woods where Erie's waves extend, 

Behold, once more, the setting sun descend ; 

Lone chirping crickets, hail the coming night, 

And bats around us wheel their giddy flight ; 

The drumming pheasant vibrates on the ear ; 

The distant forests dimly disappear. 

Slow sinks the day; and through the impending 
woods, 

Night spreads her wings, and deepening darkness 
broods. 



=© 

wilson's poems. 255 

A death-like silence reigns the forest through ; 

At last the path evanishes from view. 

Here as we stoop, our dubious course to steer, 

Inhuman screams at once assail our ear ; 

The hollow, quivering, loud repeated howl, 

Full overhead, betrays the haggard owl ; 

Who, well for her, in muffling darkness past, 

Else this heart- sinking scream had been her last. 
Thus through the forest, wrapt in deepest shade, 

Beneath black arms of towering oaks we strayed, 

At solemn intervals the peace profound 
Disturbed by rattling nuts that dropt around. 
Shrill, wildly issuing from a neighbouring height, 
The wolf's deep howlings pierce the ear of night ; 
From the dark swamp he calls his skulking crew, 
Their nightly scenes of slaughter to renew ; 
Their mingling yells sad savage woes express, 
And echo dreary through the dark recess. 
Steady along through swamps and pools we went ; 
The way-worn foresters fatigued and faint, 
Scrambling o'er fallen logs that fractured lay, 
Or stunned by viewless boughs that crossed our way ; 
While glaring round, through roots and stumps de- 
cayed, 
Phosphoric lights their pallid gleams displayed. 
Sudden a horrid human shriek we hear, 
That shot its terrors through our startled ear ; 
" Ha ! are you there !" the watchful Duncan cried, 
" Halt ! fix your bayonets, and look out ahead !" 
A second scream announced the panther nigh, 
The dark woods echoing back the rueful cry ; 
Still as the grave, suspending every breath, 
Steady we stood to mark its passing path, 
Prepared and eager for one deadly aim, 
To pour destruction through its tawny frame ; 
But vain our listening; nothing seemed awake, 
Save the lone murmur of the neighbouring lake ; 



@ =-- — — — - — =@ 

256 WILSON'S POEMS. 

All else lay dead and silent as before ; 

And even the distant wolf was heard no more. 

Amidst this deep Egyptian darkness lost, 
Our faithful pilot ne'er forsook his post ; 
But knew, or seemed to know, each swamp and pond, 
And kept his steady course unerring on. 
Behold ! in front, a spreading radiance gleams ! 
Wide, glowing, ruddy, and immense it seems, 
Such as the rising moon's broad orb bestows, 
When up night's starry vault she solemn goes, 
Each moment brightening, lo ! to our amaze, 
The woods on fire in ardent fury blaze ; 
Dark trees before us, of gigantic size, 
In deeper shades and gloomy pomp arise ; 
The flames beyond, ascending with them bear 
Thick clouds of sparkling smoke that fill the air. 
Approaching near, it opes in dread display, 
Diffusing round th' effulgency of day ; 
Where, glad to view each other's looks again, 
We stand contemplating this furious scene ; 
Here piles of logs like furnaces appear, 
The rows of underbrush rage far and near : 
Huge towering oaks amid this sea of fire, 
Descend in thunders, and in flames expire : 
Or, blazing high, with burning gaps imprest, 
Eain showers of fire infectious on the rest, 
Loud roar the flames, the crackling branches fly, 
And black behind the smoky ruins lie. 

Thus some fair city, pride of many an age, 
Gleams with the light of war's devouring rage, 
Through its high domes the flaming torrents pour, 
And naked turrets o'er the burnings lour ; 
The midnight sky reflects the dreadful blaze, 
The foe at distance, with enjoyment gaze, 
Exult to find their vengeance well employed, 
The work of ages in one night destroyed. 

© : -;■■■■ — '— = == 



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wilson's poems. 257 

So looked the woodman, who behind us stood, 

Begrimmed with soot, in tattered garments rude, 

On pitchfork leaning, hailed with " How d'ye do?" 

And looked like Lucifer just risen to view. 

At Duncan's voice, advancing, stood amazed, 

And each on other for a moment gazed ; 

"What, Johnny!" "Duncan!" "Bless my heart, 

so near ! 

How glad our folks will be to see you here !" 

Kind invitations now were not forgot, 

And through corn fields we followed to his cot, 

There " Oh's !" and "Dears!" and salutations o'er, 

The ponderous knapsacks sunk upon the floor ; 

Seats, quickly ranged, our weary limbs invite, 

And kind inquiries all our toils requite ; 

And while our meal a young brunnette prepared, 

The ancient father's numerous jokes we shared ; 

Though ninety years had silvered o'er his head, 

Yet life's green vigour seemed but little fled ; 

The burning woods that late before us blazed, 

His axe had levelled, and his handspike raised ; 

None laughed more hearty, sung with livelier glee, 

Or joked, or told a merrier tale than he ; 

Kind, cheerful, frank; in youth a sailor brave, 

" Now bound for brighter worlds beyond the grave." 

Two favourite sons, obliging, open, mild, 

With wild wood anecdotes the hours beguiled ; 

Produced their rifles, sedulous to please, 

Described their farm, their horses, harvest, bees, 

While a whole hive, the crowded garden's boast, 

Crowned our repast, and spoke the generous host. 

To Johnny's joke succeeded William's tale, 

Sweet Mary served with many a witching smile. 

And thou, Devotion, wert a kindred guest, 

Of all our joys the noblest and the best ; 

Around, convened with David's holy lays, 

In solemn strains awoke our evening praise ; 
q2 



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258 wilson's poems. 

The kneeling father's fervent prayers ascend, 

" O he the strangers' comfort, guide and friend ; 

Their trust, their guardian, wheresoe'er they go, 

To view thy greatness in thy works below ; 

O leave them not ! but their Director be, 

To that last stage that leads them home to Thee!" 

Such pious goodness, aged worth so dear, 

The trembling voice that spoke the soul sincere, 

With thoughts unspeakable my mind opprest, 

Till tears relieved the tumult of my breast t 

And all to rest retired, and silence deep, 

To lose the hardships of the day in sleep. 

By bawling calves and jumbling bells awoke* 
We start amazed to see the morning broke ; 
Such blest oblivion balmy sleep bestows 
Where toil-worn Industry and Peace repose. 
Geese, turkeys, ducks, a noisy, numerous brood, 
Mingle their gabblings with the echoing wood, 
Through whose tall pillared trees, extending blue, 
The lake Cayuga a caught our ravished view. 
Soon on its oak-crowned banks sublime we stood, 
And viewed, from right to left, its lengthened flood, 
Of vast extent, pure, glassy and serene ; 
Th' adjacent shores and skirting huts were seen, 
The eye could mark the whitened frames, the ear 
Faint sounds of barking dogs remotely hear. 

Hither before, our liberal friends had sent 
Whate'er of stores we voyagers might want, 

a This lake is about thirty-eight miles long-, and from two to 
three and four miles in breadth. It is nearly parallel with, and 
about eight or ten miles east from the Seneca lake. The bed of 
the former is said to be thirty or forty feet lower than that of the 
latter, which flows into the Cayuga nearly at its outlet, and, 
forms what is usually called Seneca River. The waters of both 
these lakes are extremely clear and transparent ; are much fre- 
quented by wild ducks, and contain abundance of various kinds 
of fish, particularly salmon, and also suckers of a very large size. 
One of these last, which we purchased from a party of Indians 
encamped on the shore, measured upwards of two feet in length. 



- @ 

Wilson's poems. 259 

Filled all our wallets, pressed us to take more, 

And side by side conveyed us to the shore ; 

There the good father grasped each traveller's hand, 

His sons and family mingling o'er the strand, 

" Farewell !" " Goodbye V 9 " God bless you !" was the 

<^y, 
The tears of friendship swelling in each ey e. 
Charmed with a love, so free, so nobly shown, 
His clubbed fuzee across his shoulder thrown, 
Our pilgrim bard the parting group addressed, 
And thus his gratitude and ours expressed : 

"For all your goodness, hospitable friends! 
We gladly would but cannot make amends ; 
All that we can we humbly offer here, 
Our dearest wishes, ardent and sincere ; 
Long with success may all your toils be blest, 
And each rich harvest rival all that's past ; 
Long may your glittering axe, with strength applied, 
The circling bark from massy trunks divide, 
Or wheeled in air while the wide woods resound, 
Bring crashing forests thundering to the ground ; 
Long may your fires in flaming piles ascend, 
And girdled trees their wintry arms extend ; 
Your mighty oxen drag the logs away, 
And give the long hid surface to the day : 
While fields of richest grain and pasture good 
Shall wave where Indians strayed and forests stood; 
And as you sweat the rustling sheaves among, 
Th' adjoining woods shall echo to your song. 
These are the scenes of truest joys below, 
From these health, peace, and independence flow ; 
Blest with the purest air, and richest soil, 
What generous harvests recompense your toil! 
Here no proud lordling lifts his haughty crest ; 
No tinselled scoundrel tramples the distrest ; 
No thief in black demands his tenth in sheaves ; 
But man from God abundantly receives. 



— ■ =© 

260 wilson's poems. 

In rustic dress you range the echoing wood, 
Health makes you gay, and simple manners good. 
Society's best joys your bosoms know, 
And plenty's smiling cup without its woe, 
Farewell, good friends! be virtue still your guide, 
Still scorn injustice, cruelty and pride. 
Whate'er be your pursuits, whate'er your care, 
Let temperance, peace and industry be there ; 
From these, want, pain, and care, and ruin fly, 
And half the ills that teach mankind to sigh. 
Fear not success ! though one attempt should fail, 
Fate yields when strength and constancy assail ; 
Store up your harvests, sow your winter grain, 
Prepare your troughs the maple's juice to drain. 
Then, when the wintry north outrageous blows, 
And nought is seen but one wide waste of snows, 
Ascend the fleeting sleigh, and like the wind, 
Scour o'er the hills, and leave the woods behind, 
Along the drifted swamps and mountains high, 
O'er rocks and narrows a make your horses fly, 
Shoot o'er the Susquehanna's frozen face, 
And bleak Wyoming's lofty hills retrace ; 
Nor let the hunter's hut, or venison stale, 
Or his loved bottle, or his wonderous tale 
Of deer and bear, your lingering steeds detain ; 
But swift descend and seek the southern plain ; 
There where the clouds of Philadelphia rise, 
And Gray's flat bridge across the Schuylkill lies ; 
There shall your grateful friends with choicest store, 
And hearts o'erflowing welcome you once more ; 
There friendship's purest joys will crown the whole, 
« The feast of reason and the flow of soul.' " 

Our boat now ready and our baggage stored, 
Provisions, mast, and oars and sails aboard, 

a These are passes on the high steep sides of the mountains 
overhanging the Susquehanna, and, in some places will not ad- 
mit more than one person abreast. 

@ .^ __ ^===: ■ - _=. --■ -~<Q)\ 



wilson's poems. 261 

With three loud cheers that echoed from the steep, 
We launched our skiff " Niagara " to the deep. 
The shores recede — the oars resounding play, 
Fleet through the unruffled flood we scour away, 
Till evening sweet suspends her starry veil, 
And all around her sparkling orbs prevail, 
There high in front, the Sear's bright splendours glow, 
His ansvvering glories gild the deep below. 
Profound and vast, and, as we onward glide, 
Dance on the bosom of the dimpling tide. 
Lone Night and listening Silence seem to sleep 
On the smooth surface of the glistening deep ; 
Save where the ducks in rising thousands soar, 
Leaving the dark expanse with lengthened roar, 
That like a cataract bursts from legions near, 
And dies in distance on the vacant ear. 
Meantime young Duncan, as the oar he plies, 
With voice melodious bids the song arise, 
The theme Columbia, her sublime increase, 
" Blest land of freedom, happiness and peace, 
Far, far removed from Europe's murderous scene, 
A Avide, a friendly waste of waves between, 
Where strangers driven by tyranny to roam, 
Still find a nobler and a happier home. 
Hail, blessed asylum ! happy country, hail ! 
O'er thee may truth; but never foe, prevail." 
From neighbouring shores, and cliffs that o'er them 

rise, 
The listening spirit of the lake replies, 
And in responses sweet, and accents plain, 
Repeats each period of th' inspiring strain. 
Now like dull stars the lighted bridge* appears, 

a This bridge extends across the lake, which at this place is 
about a mile in width. It is built of wood, is laid on two hund- 
red and fifteen tristles, each consisting of three posts, connected 
by girths and braces. The posts are sunk to hard gravel, which 
-nerally about thirty feet from the surface.— The expense 
was twenty thousand dollars. 

=====^=== © 



© = 

262 wilson's poems. 

Beneath it soon our little vessel steers ; 
Where, snugly moored, we passed away the night, 
And weighed next morning by the peep of light. 
Here the clear lake contracts its straightened floods, 
And winds a deepened stream, through level woods ; 
In vain our towering mast for soundings tries, 
Beyond its utmost depth the bottom lies ; 
Yet so transparent its pure waters flow, 
We marked the smallest leaf that lay below. 
Ducks, whistling past, like meteors fill the air, 
Our fatal guns pursue them deadly there, 
Glanced from the eye the thundering tubes rebound, 
Fluttering they fall, and flap, and scream around. 
Here from the shore, low marshes wide expand, 
Where bare and bleak the little salt-works stand ; 
There numerous pits their briny treasures yield, 
And pumps and tunnels checker all the field ; 
Whether old Neptune these blest springs supplies, 
Or deep below the massy substance lies, 
Let idlers guess ; while nobler souls revere 
The all-providing Power who raised them here. 

Beneath mild sunshine as we onward glide, 
Flat moss-clad forests rise on either side ; 
High 'midst the leafless multitude is seen 
The dark majestic pine in deepest green ; 
The snow white sycamores, that love to drink 
The passing stream and skirt the river's brink, 
Wide o'er the flood their arms capacious throw, 
To meet their softened forms that lie below. 
Still files of ducks in streaming thousands pour, 
At every bend their rising torrents roar, 
Till near Musquito point their flocks decrease, 
Where night o'ertook us and we moored in peace. 
High rose its banks, and on its rugged height, 
A small log hovel shone with glimmering light ; 
Here one lone woman and a boy we found, 
The trapper absent on his usual round, 

&.==== = — - = ® I 



wilson's poems, 263 

On board his skiff had sailed, six days ago, 
To try his luck some twenty miles below. 
This solitary hut, small, cheerless, rude, 
Amidst vast swamps and wildernesses stood, 
Where nightly horrors banished oft repose, 
Such savage cries from wolves and panthers rose ; 
Even round the bolted door, the woman said, 
At midnight frequent she could hear their tread. 
The fire blazed bright ; around us we surveyed 
The pendant furs with which it was arrayed ;, 
A sacred horse shoe, guardian of the whole, 
Terror of spirits profane, and witches foul, 
Dread, powerful talisman, 'gainst imps unknown ! 
Nailed o'er the door in silent mystery shone. 
Just as the dame her glowing hearth had cleared, 
The ragged owner of the hut appeared, 
Laden with skins, his traps around him slung ; 
Two dead racoons across his shoulder hung ; 
Musk-rats and 'possums in each hand he bore ; 
A large brown otter trailed along the floor ; 
And as he soused them down with surly gloom, 
The skunk's abhorred effluvia filled the room. a 
* ' Friends, how d'ye do ? Well wife, how come you on ? 
How fare the calves ?" " Why three of them are gone ! ' ' 
" Three ! D — n these wolves ! they'll eat up house 
and hall ! 
a The reader is not to imagine that this animal formed part of 
our trapper's game. It is never seen in this particular part of 
the country; and the trappers take advantage of this circum- 
stance to circumvent their prey. In the lower parts of the state 
where this animal is abundant, there are people who collect the 
liquor with which nature has supplied it for its defence. This 
is put into small vials, sealed, placed mouth downwards in a pot 
of earth, and sold to the trappers. A drop or two of this precious 
aroma is put on or near the steel traps after they are set, and the 
strange and extraordinary odour is said to decoy other animals 
to the spot. Our landlord himself being furnished with a bottle 
of this essence of skunk, and his traps profusely saturated with 
the same, produced the effect alluded to. 



=© 



@= ==r--r.:.-, <§> 

264 wilson's foebis. 

And have they killed the sheep ?" " They have." — 

"What, allt" * '■ 
" Yes, all." . . "I thought it would be so, 
Well, now they're at the devil, let them go." 
So said, he whets his knife to skin his store, 
While heaps of red raw carrion fill the floor. 
As morning dawned, our little skiff we trimmed, 
And through the misty flood with vigour skimmed : 
Now gliding smooth, we hail with songs the morn ; 
Now down white boiling breakers headlong borne ; 
Again enclosed, the gray woods round us rise, 
We pass where Cross Lake green and stagnant lies, 
And mark the snakes, amid their watery way, 
With heads erect our dipping oars survey. 
Dead lie the lonely woods, and silent shore, 
As nature slept and mankind were no more. 
How drear ! how desolate to ear and eye ! 
What awful solitudes around us lie ! 
Sad were his fate, too dreadfully severe, 
For life condemned to linger hopeless here ; 
From such lone thoughts of gloomy exiled wo, 
All human ties for ever to forego ; 
The heart shrinks back, dejected and dismayed, 
And owns that man for social joy was made. 
Yet still, whate'er our doubtful hearts may say, 
Even Nature's self to habit will give way ; 
And these vast solitudes, so deep and drear, 
As more frequented might become more dear. 

On yonder island, opening by degrees, 
Behold the blue smoke mounting through the trees ! 
There, by his fire, 'mid sheltering brush obscured, 
His bark canoe along the margin moored, 
With lank jet locks that half his face conceal, 
The Indian hunter eats his morning meal. 
Stakes rudely reared his little pot suspend, 
Amid the smoke his busy partners bend ; 



■-© 



wilson's poems. 265 



Beyond, sly peeping, fearful to be seen, 

Two copper chubs their favourite shell-barks glean. 

Another night another hut supplies, 

In half an hour the crazy fabrics rise ; 

The roof with bark, the floor with spruce bespread, 

The stakes around with skins and venison clad ; 

At our approach suspicion lours his eye, 

That scarce regards us gliding swiftly by. 

His life how simple and his wants how few ! 

A blanket, leggins, rifle, and canoe, 

Knife, hatchet, moccasins, — not much beside, 

And all beyond to him is empty pride. 

O'er these lone swamps the Muse impatient flies, 
Where mightier scenes and nobler prospects rise, 
Nor stoops in dull rehearsal to detail 
Each roaring rapid and each adverse gale, 
What vagrant tribes, what islands met our view, 
How down Oswego's foaming Falls we flew, 
Now plunging in our sinking bark to save, 
Now headlong hurried down th' outrageous wave ; 
How through the clear still flood, with sounding oars, 
We swept, and hailed with songs the echoing shores. 
These had their pleasures, and perhaps their fears ; 
But terrors fly when daring courage steers. 
A thousand toils, a thousand dangers past, 
The long-expected Lake appears at last, 
Seen through the trees, like Ocean's boundless blue, 
Huzza ! huzza ! Ontario is in view ! 
With flying hats we hail the glorious spot, 
And every care and every fear's forgot. 
So, when of old, we crossed the Atlantic waves, 
And left a land of despots and of slaves, 
With equal joy Columbia's shores we spied, 
And gave our cares and sorrows to the tide. 

Here, ere we launch the boundless deep along, 
Surrounding scenes demand their share of song. 

Q3 

§> r @ 



@ - © 

266 wilson's poems. 

Mark yon bleak hill, where rolling billows break, 
Just where the river joins the spacious lake, 
High on its brow, deserted and forlorn, 
Its bastions levelled, and its buildings torn, 
Stands Fort Oswego ; there the winds that blow 
Howl to the restless surge that groans below ; 
There the lone sentry walked his round, or stood, 
To view the sea-fowl coursing o'er the flood ; 
'Midst night's deep gloom shrunk at the panther's 

howl, 
And heard a foe in every whooping owl. 
Blest times for soldiers ! times, alas, not near, 
When foes like these are all they have to fear ; 
When man to man will mutual justice yield, 
And wolves and panthers only stain the field. 

Those straggling huts that on the left appear, 
Where boats and ships their crowded masts uprear, 
Where fence, or field, or cultured garden green, 
Or blessed plough, or spade, was never seen, 
Is old Oswego ; once renowned in trade, 
Where numerous tribes their annual visits paid, 
From distant wilds, the beaver's rich retreat, 
For one whole moon they trudged with weary feet ; 
Piled their rich furs within the crowded store, 
Replaced their packs, and plodded back for more. 
But time and war have banished all their trains, 
And nought but potash, salt, and rum remains. 
The boisterous boatman, drunk but twice a day, 
Begs of the landlord, but forgets to pay ; 
Pledges his salt, a cask for every quart, 
Pleased thus for poison with his pay to part. 
From morn to night here noise and riot reign ; 
From night to morn 'tis noise and roar again. 

Around us now Ontario's ocean lay, 
Rough rose its billows, crowned with foaming spray, 
The grim north-east in roaring fury blew, 
And our frail bark, deep dashing laboured through ; 

<& 



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Wilson's poems. 267 

Our blanket sail, and feeble sapling mast, 
Drank the rough waves and quivered in the blast . 
A friendly sloop for Queenstown* harbour bound, 
While night's foul hurricanes were gathering round, 
Beheld our danger, saw our numbers few, 
And for our boat received its willing crew ; 
Both safe on board, they trim their thundering sail, 
The boom and main- sheet bending to the gale. 
Hard by the helm th' experienced master stood, 
And far to windward eyed the whitening flood, 
Saw in the east the coming tempest lour, b 
On night's black wings impetuous to devour ! 
Her roaring bow the boiling spray divides, 
Two foaming torrents sweep along the sides, 
Eeef after reef retrench the straining sail, 
And the racked vessel staggers in the gale. 
Now up th' outrageous waves' high steep we go, 
Now plunge down headlong in the gulf below ; 
Slow rising, shivering through tempestuous clouds, 
That howled like demons in the whizzing shrouds, 
Down in the cabin by the uproar driven, 
Heedless of all the warring winds of heaven, 
Sick, groaning, speechless, and unfit to pray, 
Our three pale foresters inglorious lay ; 
Groan answered groan ; while at each desperate throe 
The deep bilge water churned and roared below. 
Sad night of sickness, tumult, fears and hopes, 
Of roaring surges, and of rattling ropes, 

a This place lies on the Canada side of the Niagara river, seven 
miles below the falls. 

b These storms are very frequent on this lake ; and the want 
of sufficient sea-room is also dangerous. A few days previous to 
our arrival at Oswego, a British packet called the Speedy, with 
the judge-advocate on board, the judges, witnesses, and an Indian 
prisoner, and others to the amount of twenty or thirty persons, 
foundered in a violent gale, and every soul perished. No part of 
the vessel was afterwards found except the pump, which we picked 
up, and carried to Queenstown. 

Q 4 



<§)-: 



268 wilson's poems. 

Heart-rending retchings, tossings to and fro, 
And all the horrors land-born lubbers know. 
At length the morn arose, the storm withdrew, 
And fair the breeze with steady vigour blew. 

First upon deck, our bard, uncheered with sleep, 
Gazed silent round upon the shoreless deep ; 
From whose vast bosom, where the orient glows, 
The glorious sun in reddening pomp arose. 
The cold camboose with blazing faggots filled, 
And, though in culinary lore unskilled, 
Fried the nice venison, well with onions stored, 
And summoned Leech and Duncan to the board. 
Slow from the cabin mount the staggering pair, 
Pale their changed cheeks, and wild their haggard air ; 
So look two ghosts that Tyburn's tree attend, 
When the last signal calls them to ascend. 
Soon as the savoury steams their nostrils gain, 
They sicken, heave, and stagger down again . 
Bold-hearted Duncan ! who'd have dreamt to see 
This pale Sea-spectre fix her fangs on thee ? 
On thee, who dauntless down the torrent's course, 
'Midst rocks and foam, defied its roaring force ; 
Still first the dangers of the chase to share, 
To pierce the panther, or o'erwhelm the bear ; 
And at the joyous feast that crowned the whole, 
With mirth and songs to elevate each soul. 

"Cheer, comrades, cheer! deliverance is at hand ! 
Lo ! on the lee-bow lies the hazy land !" 
Loud hailed the bard. At once, in cheerful mood, 
Firm upon deck the active Duncan stood; 
The wide expanse with freshened looks he eyed, 
And " Who's afraid?" in sportive humour cried. 
Meantime the gale our flying vessel bore, 
On wings of wind, full thirteen knots an hour ; 
And just as day its closing light withdrew, 
Niagara's light-house opened on our view. 



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wilson's poems. 269 

Its star-like radiance shone with steady ray, 
Like Venus lingering in the rear of day. 
By slow degrees the sinking breezes die, 
And on the smooth still flood we logging lie. 
Roused by the morning and the neighbouring drum, 
Swift upon deck with eager eyes we come, 
There, high in air, (the fortress full in view) 
Our star-crowned stripes in waving triumph flew, 
Hail, sacred flag ! to sons of Freedom dear, 
Thy country's valour reared thine honours here ; 
Eternal blessings crown her rich increase, 
Her Bands of Union and her Stars of Beace. 

Before us now the opening river pours, 
Through gradual windings and projecting shores ; 
Smooth slopes the green where Newark's village lies, 
There, o'er their fort, the British ensign flies. 
4 'From whence?" they hail; we shout with trumpet's 

sound, 
"From Fort Oswego; up to Queenstown bound." 
"What news?" "The Speedy's pump on board we 

bear, 
The sole found fragment of that sad affair. " 
Th' increasing distance drowns their faint reply, 
And up the adverse stream we foaming fly. 

Now full in front the Eidge a its height uprears, 
Its high, grim gap, like some vast cave appears ; 
Thick wheel strong eddies, marked with whirling 

foam, 
As from this gloomy chasm they hurrying come ; 
Low at its foot, with stores and gardens gay, 
Close, snugly sheltered, little Queenstown lay ; 

a This singular ridge commences about the head of lake Onta- 
rio, and running in an easterly direction, loses itself in the country 
towards the Seneca lake. The plain, extending from its base 
northwardly to the shores of the lake, is between two and three 
hundred feet lower than that extending from its top, south, to 
lake Erie. 






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270 wilson's poems. 

Here night once more her shadows o'er us threw, 
And, safely moored, we bid our bark adieu. 

Long seemed the night; impatient of repose, 
By day's first dawn delighted we arose; 
A day replete with scenes sublime and new 
About to burst on our astonished view. 
Sweet rose the morning, silent and serene, 
No vagrant cloud, or stirring leaf was seen, 
The sun's warm beams with dazzling radiance glow, 
And glittering dance upon the flood below. 
Soon full equip t the towering ridge we scale, 
Thence, gazing back, a boundless prospect hail. 

Far in the east Ontario's waters spread, 
Vast as the Ocean in his sky-bound bed. 
Bright through the parted plain that lay between, 
Niagara's deep majestic flood was seen ; 
The right a wilderness of woods displayed, 
Fields, orchards, woods, were on the left arrayed. 
There, near the lake's green shore, above the flood, 
The tall, white light-house like a column stood. 
O'er each grim fort, high waving to the view, 
Columbia's stars and Britain's crosses flew. 
Thus two stern champions watch each other's eye, 
And mark each movement ready to let fly. 

Up to the ridge's top, high winding led, 
There on a flat, dry plain, we gaily tread, 
And stop, and list, with throbbing hearts to hear 
The long expected cataract meet the ear ; 
But list in vain. Though five short miles ahead, 
All sound was hushed and every whisper dead. a 
" 'Tis strange," said Duncan, " here the sound might 

reach." 
" 'Tis all an April errand," answered Leech. 

a This will appear almost incredible to those who have heard 
it asserted that the noise of the cataract is frequently heard at 
the distance of forty miles. Both these facts, however, are 
actually true, and depend entirely on the state of the atmosphere 
and current of the air. 



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^o 



wilson's poems. 271 

" Men to make books a thousand tales devise, 

And nineteen-twentieths are a paek of lies. 

Here three long weeks, by storms and famines beat, 

With sore bruised backs, and lame and blistered feet ; 

Here nameless hardships, griefs and miseries past, 

We find some mill-dam for our pains at last. 

Once safe at home, kicked, cudgelled let me be, 

If e'er bookmaker make a fool of me." 

He spoke and groaned : for heedless of his woe, 

A stubborn stump assailed his corny toe; 

Stunned with the stroke, he grinned and hopped 

around, 
While peals of mirth and laughter loud resound. 
Heavy and slow, increasing on the ear, 
Deep through the woods a rising storm we hear ; 
The approaching gust still loud and louder grows, 
As when the strong north-east resistless blows, 
Or black tornado, rushing through the wood, 
Alarms the affrighted swains with uproar rude. 
Yet the blue heavens displayed their clearest sky, 
And dead below the silent forests lie ; 
And not a breath the slightest leaf assailed ; 
But all around tranquility prevailed, 
" What noise is that?" we ask, with anxious mien, 
A dull salt driver passing with his team. 
" Noise ! noise ! — why nothing that I hear or see, 
But Nagra falls — Pray whereabouts live ye?" 

All looked amazed! yet not untouched with fear, 
Like those who first the battle's thunders hear, 
Till Duncan said, with grave satiric glee, 
" Lord, what a monstrous mill-dam that must be !" 
Leech blushed assent ; while, as we nearer drew, 
The loudening roar more harsh and heavy grew. 
Awe-struck sensations now all sj)eech represt, 
And expectation throbbed in every breast. 
Now from the woods, emerging into day, 
Before us fields and farms and orchards lay ; 






r© 



272 wilson's poems. 

The sloping hills a hollow vale disclose, 
Whence hurrying clouds of boiling smoke arose, a 
Till in one congregated column thrown, 
On whose bright side a glorious rainbow shone ; 
High in the heavens it reared its towering head, 
And o'er the day its train gigantic led. 
Beyond its base, there like a wall of foam, 
Here in a circling gulf unbroken thrown. 
With uproar hideous, first the Falls appear, 
The stunning tumult thundering on the ear. 
Above, below, where'er the astonished eye 
Turns to behold, new opening wonders lie, 
Till to a steep's high brow unconscious brought, 
Lost to all other care of sense or thought, 
There the broad river, like a lake outspread, 
The islands, rapids, falls, in grandeur dread ; 
The heaps of boiling foam, the ascending spray, 
The gulf profound, where dazzling rainbows play. 
This great o'erwhelming work of awful Time, 
In all its dread magnificence sublime, 
Rose on our view, amid a crashing roar, 
That bade us kneel, and Time's great God adore. 
As when o'er tracks immense of deserts drear, 
Through dangerous nations, and 'midst toils severe ; 
Day after day condemned a war to wage 
With thirst and hunger, men and lions' rage ; 
Noon's burning heat, and night's distressing cold, 
Arabian pilgrims Mecca's walls behold ; 
Those holy walls, whose sacred roof contains 
Mahomet's tomb — their prophet's blest remains. 
Past sufferings vanish, every sigh's supprest, 
A flood of rapture rises in each breast ; 
All hearts confess an awful joy serene, 
And humbly bow before the glorious scene. 

a This train of black clouds extends along the heavens in the 
direction in which the wind blows, as far as the eye can reach, 
forming a very striking and majestic appearance. 



WILSON'S POEMS. 273 

Such were our raptures, such the holy awe 
That swelled our hearts at all we heard and saw. 
Fixed to the rock, like monuments we stood 
On its flat face, above the outrageous flood, 
There, while our eyes the amazing whole explored, 
The deep loud roar our loudest voice devoured. 

High o'er the watery uproar, silent seen, 
Sailing sedate, in majesty serene, 
Now 'midst the pillared spray sublimely lost, 
And now, emerging, down the rapids tost, 
Swept the gray eagles, gazing calm and slow, 
On all the horrors of the gulf below ; 
Intent, alone, to sate themselves with blood, 
From the torn victims of the raging flood. 

Whate'er the weather, or whate'er the gale, 
Here ceaseless haze and flying rains prevail ; 
Down bend the boughs with weight of moisture borne, 
Each bush, each tree, the dazzling drops adorn ; 
Save when deep winter's fiercest rigours blow, 
Then falls the whirling spray in silent snow ; 
While the dew-drops to icicles are changed, 
In glittering pendant parallels arranged. 
Then, too, amid the Falls, stupendous rise 
Bright icy pillars of prodigious size ! 
As if some pile immense of Greece or Rome, 
Were deep engulfed within their hideous womb. 
Drenched to the skin, our baggage down we throw, 
Fixed to descend into the gulf below ; 
Amid whose wreck, and from whose depth profound, 
Some new resource for wonder might be found ; 
Along the dreadful verge we cautious steered, 
Till the tall ladder's tottering top appeared;* 

a This ladder was placed in an almost perpendicular position, 
not leaning on the brink; but fastened to a projecting 1 root, in 
such a manner that, on descending, the steep was on our right 
hand, and a tremendous abyss, of a hundred and fifty feet deep 
presented itself before us. 



- ® 



274 Wilson's poems. 

A tree's projecting root its weight sustains ; 
The dread abyss wheels round our giddy brains. 
Leech, like a bird, with the whole gulf in view, 
Down its slight slippery bars regardless flew ! 
The bard came after, not devoid of fear, 
And Duncan, gay and laughing, closed the rear ; 
The cumb'rous weight its bending sides assails, 
It yields ! it cracks ! its whole foundation fails ! 
Fear, swift as light, the rocks' grim pavement stains 
With mangled limbs, and blood, and spattered brains ; 
But firm above the roots remained, though rude, 
And safe below on Chaos' shores we stood. 

Genius of song — Great Source of light and day ! 
How shall the Muse this dreadful place pourtray ? 
Where all around tremendous rocks were spread, 3. 
That from our feet in headlong fury fled ; 
Rocks that great Ajax, with his hundreds more, 
Could scarce have moved one hairbreadth from the 

shore ; 
Where logs and boards, and trees of reverend age, 
Beat to a pulp amid the torrent's rage. 
Fragments of boats, oars, carcasses uncleaD, 
Of what had bears, deer, fowls, and fishes been, 
Lay in such uproar, 'midst such clamour drowned, 
That death and ruin seemed to reign around. 

High in our front the outrageous river roared, 
And in three separate falls stupendous poured : 
First, slow Fort Slusher's b down was seen to roam 
In one vast living sheet of glittering foam ; 

a These rocks being worn smooth by the perpetual action of 
the water, and lying upon a steep declivity, composed of loose 
masses of smaller ones, were displaced at every pressure of the 
foot, so that masses larger than millstones were easily launched 
down with a single kick, rendering it highly dangerous for more 
than one person to pass abreast. 

i> The height of this fall is said to he 154 feet. The current 
above is much slower than in any oiher part of the river near the 
falls, and the water drops here almost perpendicularly, presenting 
the appearance of an immense white curtain of foam. 
(&:= -■ — = 



© — - =® 

wilson's poems. 275 

On its south side a little islet towers, 

There one small pitch o'er broken fragments pours : 

Goat-Island next, with oaks and cedars crowned, 

Its shelving base with dwarfish shrubbery bound ; 

Along the brink a rocky front extends 

Four hundred yards, and at the Horse-shoe ends. a 

There the main forces of the river pour ; 

There, fierce above, the rushing rapids roar ! 

The mighty watery mass, resistless grown, 

Green down the impending brink unbroken thrown, 

Whelmed amidst dazzling hills of boiling spray, 

In raging, deafening torrents roar away. 

One last grand object b yet remained unviewed ; 
Thither we crawl, o'er monstrous fragments rude, 
Struggling o'er caverns deep, now prostrate thrown, 
~Nqw up wet slippery masses clambering on, 
Below, in foam, the raging rapids -sweep, 
Above, dark hollowed, hangs the enormous steep, 
Scooped out immense ; resounding, gloomy, bare, 
Its giddy verge projected high in air; 
There such a scene of rage and uproar "new, 
In awful grandeur burst upon our view, 
As seized at once all power of speech away, 
And filled our souls with terror and dismay. 

Great God of nature ! whose blessed sun and showers 
Called into action these tremendous powers, 
Where shall my tongue fit force of language find 
To speak the dread sensations of the mind, 
When o'er the impending brink, in bounding sweep, 
The eye pursued this deluge to the deep, 

a These falls are 12 or 14 feet lower than those of Fort Slusher 
on the American side ; and the main body of tnc river rushes 
over at this place with indescribable violence and uproar. 

b The Great Pitch. Of the general appearance of this tre- 
mendous scene I find it altogether impossible for me to give any 
adequate conception. 

r 2 
=- ' ~~=^ =^=— - @ 



2/b WILSON S POEMS. 

Saw its white torrenfs undulating pour 

Erom heaven to earth with deafening, crashing roar, 

Bashed in the wild and torn abyss below, 

'Midst dazzling foam and whirling storms of snow, 

While the whole monstrous mass, and country round, 

Shook as with horror at the overwhelming sound! 3 

Within this concave vast, dark, frowning, deep, 
Eternal rains and howling whirlwinds sweep ; 
The slippery rocks, at every faithless tread, 
Threaten to whelm us headlong to the dead. 
Our bard and pilot, curious to survey, 
Behind this sheet what unknown wonders lay, 
Resolved the dangers of the attempt to share, 
And all its terrors and its storms to dare ; 
So, hand in hand, with firm yet cautious pace, 
Along the gloom they grope this dreary space, 
'Midst rushing winds, descending deep, they gain 
Behind th' o'erhanging horrors of the scene ; 
There dark, tempestuous, howling regions lie, 
And whirling floods of clashing waters fly. 
At once of sight deprived, of sense and breath, 
Staggering amidst this caverned porch of death, 
One moment more had swept them in the waves 
To the most horrible of human graves ; 
But danger, here, to desperate force gave way, 
And drove them, drenched and gasping out to day. 

The glooms of evening now began to close, 
O'er heaps of rocks our homeward steps we chose ; 
And one by one the infernal ladder scaled, 
While night's grim darkness deep around prevailed ; 
Safe on the fearful brink, we search around, 
And, glimmering near, a light and lodgings found ; 

a This is literally true. In the bouse where we lodged, which 
is more than half a mile from the falls, the vibration of a fork, 
stuck in a board partition, were plainly observable across the 
room. 

e =- =- — = 



r@ 



Wilson's poems. 277 

There full of all the wonders of the clay, 

In vain on bed our weary heads we lay ; 

Still loud without a mighty tempest heaves ; 

Still the calm air our terror undeceives. 

And when some short and broken slumbers came, 

Still round us roaring swept th' outrageous stream; 

Whelmed in the deep we sunk, engulfed, forlorn, 

Or down the dreadful Kapids helpless borne ; 

Groaning we start ! and at the loudening war, 

Ask our bewildered senses where we are. 

At length, with watching and with toil opprest, 

The thundering tumult rocked us into rest. 



The following five pieces, with their prose introduc- 
tions, are from the American Ornithology. 

Wbt QLmttkm Wlm^Mk^* 

Such are the mild and pleasing manners of the Blue-bird, and 
so universally is he esteemed, that I have often regretted that no 
pastoral muse has yet risen, in this western woody world, to do 
justice to his name, and endear him to us still more, by the ten- 
derness of verse, as has been done to his representative in Britain, 
the Robin Red-breast. A small acknowledgment of this kind I 
have to offer, which the reader I hope will excuse as a tribute to 
rural innocence. 

When Winter's cold tempests and snows are no more, 
Green meadows, and brown furrowed fields re- 
appearing, 
The fishermen hauling their shad to the shore, 
And cloud-cleaving geese to the lakes are a-steer- 
ing, 
When first the lone butterfly flits on the wing, 

When red glow the maples, so fresh and so pleasing, 
O then comes the Blue-bird, the herald of Spring, 
And hails with his warblings the charms of the 
season. 



■-<£> 



278 Wilson's poems. 

Then loud piping frogs make the marshes to ring ; 

Then warm glows the sunshine, and fine is the 
weather ; 
The blue woodland flowers just beginning to spring, 

And spicewood and sassafras budding together ; 
O then to your gardens, ye housewives, repair ; 

Your walks border up, sow and plant at your 
leisure ; 
The Blue-bird will chant from his box such an air, 

That all your hard toils will seem truly a pleasure. 

He flits through the orchard, he visits each tree, 

The red glowing peach, and the apple's sweet 
blossoms ; 
He snaps up destroyers wherever they be, 

And seizes the caitiffs that lurk in their bosoms ; 
He draws the vile grub from the corn it devours, 

The worms from their webs where they riot and 
welter. 
His song and his services freely are ours, 

And all that he asks, is, in summer, a shelter. 

The ploughman is pleased when he gleans in his train, 

Now searching the furrows— now mounting to 
cheer him, 
The gardener delights in his sweet simple strain, 

And leans on his spade to survey and to hear him. 
The slow ling'ring schoolboys forget they'll be chid, 

While gazing intent as he warbles before 'em, 
In mantle of sky-blue, and bosom so red, 

That each little loiterer seems to adore him. 

When all the gay scenes of the summer are o'er, . 

And Autumn slow enters so silent and sallow, 
And millions of warblers, that charmed us before, 

Have fled in the train of the sun-seeking swallow ; 
The Blue-bird, forsaken, yet true to his home, 

Still lingers, and looks for a milder to-morrow, 



=© 



wilson's poems. 279 

Till forced by the horrors of winter to roam, 
He sings his adieu in a lone note of sorrow- 

While Spring's lovely season, soft, dewy, and warm, 

The green face of earth, and the pure blue of 
heaven, 
Or love's native music have influence to charm, 

Or sympathy's glow to our feelings are given — 
Still dear to each bosom the Blue-bird shall be ; 

His voice, like the thrillings of hope, is a treasure ; 
Eor, through bleakest storms, if a calm he but see, 

He comes to remind us of sunshine and pleasure. 



The Humming Bird is one of the few that are universally be- 
loved ; and, amid the sweet dewy serenity of a summer's morning-, 
his appearance among the arbours of honeysuckle, and beds of 
flowers, is truly interesting. 

When morning dawns, and the blest sun again 
Lifts his red glories from the eastern main, 
Then thro' our woodbines, wet with glittering dews, 
The flower-fed Humming-bird his flight pursues, 
Sips with inserted tube the honied blooms, 
And chirps his gratitude as round he roams ; 
While richest roses, though in crimson drest, 
Shrink from the splendour of his gorgeous breast. 
What heavenly tints in mingling radiance fly, 
Each rapid movement gives a different dye; 
Like scales of burnished gold they dazzling show, 
Now sink to shade — now like a furnace glow. 



' liimun liii 

The Baltimore inhabits North America, from Canada to Mexico, 
and is even found as far south as Brazil. Since the streets of our 
cities have been planted with that beautiful and stately tree, the 
Lombardy poplar, these birds are our constant visitors during the 



© 



®= 



280 wilson's poems. 

early part of summer ; and, amid the noise and tumult of coaches, 
drays, wheelbarrows, and the din of the multitude, they are heard 
chanting " their native wood-notes wild." 

High on yon poplar, clad in glossiest green, 
The orange, black-capped Baltimore is seen ; 
The broad extended boughs still please him best, 
Beneath their bending skirts he hangs his nest ; 
There his sweet mate, secure from every harm, 
Broods o'er her spotted store, and wraps them warm ; 
Lists to the noon-tide hum of busy bees, 
Her partner's mellow song, the brook, the breeze ; 
These day by day the lonely hours deceive, 
From dewy morn to slow descending eve. 
Two weeks elapsed, behold a helpless crew 
Claim all her care, and her affection too ; 
On wings of love th' assiduous nurses fly, 
Flowers, leaves, and boughs, abundant food supply ; 
Glad chants their guardian, as abroad he goes, 
And waving breezes rock them to repose. 



The regular arrival of this noted bird at the vernal equinox, 
when the busy season of fishing commences, adds peculiar inter- 
est to its first appearance, and procures it many a benediction 
from the fishermen. With the following lines, illustrative of 
these circumstances, I shall conclude its history : — 

Soon as the sun, great ruler of the year, 
Bends to our northern clime his bright career, 
And from the caves of ocean calls from sleep 
The finny shoals and myriads of the deep ; 
When freezing tempests back to Greenland ride, 
And day and night the equal hours divide, 
True to the season, o'er our sea-beat shore, 
The sailing osprey high is seen to soar, 
With broad unmoving wing, and circling slow, 
Marks each loose straggler in the deep below ; 



©--- 



Wilson's poems. 281 

Sweeps down like lightning ! plunges with a roar ! a 
And bears his struggling victim to the shore. 

The long housed fisherman beholds with joy, 
The well known signals of his rough employ ; 
And as he bears his nets and oars along, 
Thus hails the welcome season with a song : 

The osprey sails above the sound, 

The geese are gone, the gulls are flying ; 
The herring shoals swarm thick around, 
The nets are launched, the boats are plying. 
Yo ho, my hearts ! let's seek the deep, 

Raise high the song, and cheerly wish her, 
Still as the bending net we sweep, 

" God bless the fish-hawk and the fisher ! " 

She brings us fish — she brings us Spring, 

Good times, fair weather, warmth, and plenty; 
Fine store of shad, trout, herring, ling, 

Sheep-head and drum, and old wives' dainty. 
Yo ho, my hearts ! let's seek the deep, 
Ply every oar, and cheerly wish her, 
Still as the bending net we sweep, 

" God bless the fish-hawk and the fisher ! " 

She rears her young on yonder tree, 

She leaves her faithful mate to mind 'em ; 
Like us, for fish she sails the sea, 

And, plunging, shows us where to find 'em. 
Yo ho, my hearts ! let's seek the deep, 
Ply every oar, and cheerly wish her, 
While slow the bending net we sweep, 
" God bless the fish-hawk and the fisher ! " 

a The Italians compare its descent upon the water to a piece 
of lead falling upon that element, and distinguish it by the name 
of acquilapiumbina, or the leaden eagle. — American Ornithology. 

=® 



(§) =r — _ r -====== z:z^: (§) 

282 Wilson's poems. 

Great prejudices are entertained against this little bird; I, 
however, honour him for his extreme affection for his young ; for 
his contempt of danger, and unexampled intrepidity ; for his 
meekness of behaviour when there are no calls upon his courage ; 
but, above all, for the millions of ruinous vermon of which he 
rids us ! 

As a friend to this persecuted bird, and an enemy to prejudi- 
ces of every description, will the reader allow me to set this mat- 
ter in a somewhat clearer light, by presenting him with a short 
poetical epitome of the King-bird's history ; — 

Ear in the south, where vast Maragnon flows, 
And boundless forests unknown wilds inclose, 
Yine-tangled shores and suffocating woods, 
Parched up with heat, or drown'd with pouring floods, 
Where each extreme alternately prevails, 
And Nature, sad, the ravages bewails ; 
Lo ! high in air, above those trackless wastes, 
With Spring's return, the King-bird hither hastes, 
Coasts the famed gulf, a and from his height explores 
Its thousand streams, its long indented shores, 
Its plains immense, wide op'ning on the day, 
Its lakes and isles where feathered millions play. 
All tempt not him ; till, gazing from on high, 
Columbia's regions wide below him lie ; 
There end his wanderings and his wish to roam, 
There lie his native woods, his fields, his home ; 
Down, circling, he descends from azure heights, 
And on a full blown sassafras alights. 

Fatigued and silent, for a while he views 
His old frequented haunts, and shades recluse, 
Sees brothers, comrades, every hour arrive, 
Hears humming round the tenants of the hive ; 
Love fires his breast, he wooes, and soon is blest, 
And in the blooming orchard builds his nest. 
Come now, ye cowards ! ye whom Heaven disdains, 
Who boast the happiest home, the richest plains ; 
a Of Mexico. 

©^ — — - - 



— - -=^r© 

wilson's poems. 283 

On whom, perchance, a wife, an infant's eye, 
Hang as their hope, and on your arm rely, 
Yet, when the hour of danger and dismay 
Comes on that country, sneak in holes away, 
Shrink from the perils ye were bound to face, 
And leave those babes and country to disgrace ; 
Come here, (if such we have) ye dastard herd ! 
And kneel in dust before this noble bird. 

When the specked eggs within his nest appear, 
Then glows affection, ardent and sincere. 
No discord sours him when his mate he meets, 
But each warm heart with mutual kindness beats, 
For her repast he bears along the lea 
The bloated gad-fly and the balmy-bee ; 
For her repose scours o'er th' adjacent farm, 
Whence hawks might dart, or lurking foes alarm, 
For now abroad a band of ruffians prey, 
The crow, the cuckoo, and th' insidious jay ; 
These, in the owner's absence, all destroy, 
And murder every hope, and every joy. 

Soft sits his brooding mate, her guardian he, 
Perched on the top of some tall neighb'ring tree, 
Thence from the thicket to the concave skies, 
His watchful eye around unceasing flies, 
Wrens, thrushes, warblers, startled at his note, 
Fly in affright the consecrated spot ; 
He drives the plundering jay, with honest scorn 
Back to his woods — the mocker on his thorn, 
Sweeps round the cuckoo, as the thief retreats, 
Attacks the crow, the diving hawk defeats, 
Darts on the eagle downwards from afar, 
And, 'midst the clouds, prolongs the whirling war. 
All danger o'er, he hastens back elate, 
To guard his post, and feed his faithful mate. 

Behold him now, his little family flown, 
Meek, unassuming, silent, and alone, 

r3 



284 Wilson's poems. 

Lured by the well-known hum of favourite bees, 
As slow he hovers o'er the garden trees, 
(For all have feelings, passions, whims, that lead 
Some favourite wish, some appetite to feed;) 
Straight he alights, and from the pear-tree spies 
The circling stream of humming insects rise: 
Selects his prey, darts on the busy brood, 
And shrilly twitters o'er his savoury food. 

Ah, ill-timed triumph ! direful note to thee, 
That guides thy murderer to the fatal tree ; 
See where he skulks, and takes his gloomy stand, 
The deep-charged musket hanging in his hand, 
And, gaunt for blood, he leans it on a rest, 
Prepared and pointed at thy snow-white breast. 
Ah ! friend, good friend, forbear that barb'rous deed, 
Against it, valour, goodness, pity plead ; 
If ere a family's griefs, a widow's woe 
Have reached thy soul, in mercy let him go ! 
Yet, should the tear of pity nought avail, 
Let interest speak, let gratitude prevail. 
Kill not thy friend who thy whole harvest shields, 
And sweeps ten thousand vermin from thy fields ; 
Think how this dauntless bird, thy poultry's guard, 
Drove every hawk and eagle from thy yard, 
Watched round thy cattle as they fed, and slew 
The hungry blackening swarms that round them flew, 
Some small return, some little right resign, 
And spare his life whose services are thine. 
— I plead in vain ! — amid the bursting roar, 
The poor lost King-bird welters in his gore. 



IPtrgt* 

He's gone! for ever gone and lost 
Our country's glory, pride, and boast ; 
In vain we weep — in vain deplore, 
Our Washington is now no more. — 



®, 



- -© 

wilson's poems. 285 

That guiding star, whose radiant form, 
In triumph led us through the storm, 
While blackest clouds did round us roar, 
Is set — to gild our sphere no more. 

O'er regions far remote and nigh, 
The fatal tidings swiftly fly, 
Each startled bosom heaves with woe, 
And tears of deepest sorrow flow. 
The young, the aged, wise, and brave, 
Approach in solemn grief his grave, 
In silent anguish to bemoan, 
Their hero, friend, and father gone. 



Where'er I turn my weary eyes, 

Surrounding sorrows wait ; 
For vain are all the passing joys, 

And fairest smiles of Fate. 

Full oft, through life's perplexing maze, 
We chase some distant gain ; 

Death comes — we leave the mad pursuit, 
And sigh that all is vain. 

And is all vanity below ? — 

Religion mild replies, 
" No other joys, save those I give, 

Can make thee good or wise." 



mm 



Ye dazzling stars above, 

That deck the midnight sky, 
Say, whence the mighty power that thus 

Suspended you on high. 

r4 

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286 wilson's poems. 

Wide o'er the vast expanse 

Your glittering numbers roll ; 
And thus, methinks, in solemn strains, 

You whisper to the soul : 

"For thee, from age to age, 

Here silently we shine, 
To lift thy thoughts from things below, 

And lead them to divine." 



H)gmE III, 

Glad Morning now unfolds her wing, 
And shakes the dews of night away, 

The birds, from airy branches, sing, 
To hail the near approach of day. 

How sad to them when Sol retires ! 

How welcome his returning rays ! 
When love their every breast inspires, 

To chant the great Creator's praise. 

Come then, my soul ! that Power adore, 
While light, and life, and time remain ; 

Soon will my day of life be o'er, 
And death's descending darkness reiprn. 



Slow sinks the sun amid the ruddy main, 
While silence seals each closing eye to rest ; 
The weary bird steals softly to its nest, 
While, from the town, the sounds of labour cease, 
And all around is universal peace. 
Now while the moon begins her nightly course, 
While mild the air, and silent sleeps the breeze, 
And shadows stretch beneath the branching trees, 
There, musing deep, let Contemplation stray, 
Far from the noise and discontents of day. 



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wilson's poems 287 

|§g» iff. 

Why fails my courage now ? 

Why tremble I at death ? 
Why sweats my throbbing brow, 

To yield that trifle— breath ? 
Alas ! some power within 

Incessant seems to say, 
That I, in deepest sin, 

Have trifled life away. 
Oh ! save me from the deep, 

That life I may renew ; 
Suspend the blow, but keep 

Death ever in my view. 



Again the fading fields 

Announce wild Winter nigh ; 
Each shed the harvest shields 
From the inclement sky. 
Low lower the clouds 
And o'er the plain 
East pours the rain, 
And swells the floods. 

Loud o'er the lonely height 

The lashing tempest howls ; 
And through the tedious night 
Wild scream the wailing owls ; 
While round the shores 
Of Albion wide, 
In foaming pride, 
Old Ocean roars. 






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H>glttE fll 

To Him who bids the tempests roll, 
Or lulls the noontide blaze, 

In joyful anthems let your soul 
Proclaim his boundless praise. 

Where'er yon glorious orb of day 
Dispels the dreary night ; 

Where'er his bright refulgent ray 
Dispenses life and light ; 

In one triumphant chorus high, 

Let all unite around, 
Till loud along the vaulted sky, 

The lofty song resound. 



A wh — e's a pitfall, and a scold's a rod ; 
An honest wife's a noble work of God ! 

Clean dead and gane — beneath this stane 

Auld Janet lies, of Torry ; a 
Life warmed her blude, and hale she stood, 

Till time saw her right hoary. 

Weel lo'ed by a' she gaed fu' braw, 
Clean, snod, and wondrous gawsey ; 

A sonsier dame, or sappier wame, 
Ne'er hotcht alangst the cawsey. 

Her blithsome bield to ilka chield 

Wha bore a pack, was fenny, 
Where safe and soun', they might lie down, 

Syne rise and pay their penny. 

a Torrybum, a small coast town on the western extremity of 
Fifeshire. 



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Wilson's poems. 289 

Till spitefu' death closed up her breath, 

And a' our daffin humbled ; 
For through the head he shot her dead, 

And down puir Janet tumbled. 

Ye pedlars now, oh ! mournfu' view 

This stane reared by a brither, 
And as ye pass, greet owre the grass 

That co'ers your auld kind mither ! 

For me — Oh dear ! the waefu' tear 

Starts at the dismal story ; — 
I'll gar ilk vale sad echoing wail, 

That Janet's dead, of Torry. 



I asked a poor fav'rite of Phoebus t' other night, 
Whom to see, I had toiled seven proud stories height, 
If his wit could inform me what cause can be for it, 
That poets incline so to live in a garret ? 

" There are many," quoth he, " don't you know 

that sly reynard 
When traced from the hen-roost, the fold or the 

vineyard, 
How by turnings and doubling he endeavours to 

fleece 
Each hound of its aim, then repose him in peace ? 
So we, (such you see are the terms of Apollo) 
Still in dread of the Bailiff or Dun's horrid hollo, 
Mount winding and circling through a labyrinth of 

stairs, 
To our own airy regions of hunger and cares. 

" Another, moreover, might likewise be given — 
We're nearer Apollo, the Muses and Heaven, 



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WILSON S POEMS. 



From whence, when the patch from its pane is un- 
furled, 
We can spit with contempt on the rest of the world,. 
And, living on air, sure 'tis well understood, 
That the higher the garret the purer the food. 



ADDRESSED TO- A FRIEND. 

If cares can quench the poet's fire, 

And damp each cheerful-rising thought,. 

Make Wilson drooping drop the lyre, 
Ere he perhaps a theme has sought ; 

Sure if there lived a friendly swain, 
Mild, merry, generous to the poet ;: 

Inspiring joy, expelling pain, 

To please inclined, and kind to show it. 

Can words tell how my heart would leap, 
How throb to meet a swain so true ! 

Exclaim you, with affection deep, 

"Lives such a swain?" — he lives in you. 



" Spring returns, but youfch no more." 

Loud roaring Winter now is o'er, 

And Spring returns with fragrance sweet ; 

The bee sips nectar from each flower, 
And frisking lambs on hillocks bleat. 

The little birds chant on each bough, 
And warbling larks, ascending sing, 

Cheerful, amid the sun's bright glow, 
They sweep around on sportive wing. 



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wilson's poems. 291 

How pleasant, now, abroad to rove, 

To view the fruit trees as they bloom ; 
To pluck the flowers that deck each grove, 

Or wander through the yellow broom. 

Yet, 'midst the pleasures we enjoy, 

What painful cares harrass our breast, 
Ah! were we freed from this annoy, 

How peaceful calm our minds would rest. 

The shady bowers, the waving woods, 

With seeming joy we may explore; 
Stand listening to the falling floods, 

Yet still the weight increaseth more. 

Oh S when will come that happy day, 

When all perplexing cares will cease, 
Ne'er till we pass that narrow way, 

Which deads to everlasting peace. 



AN ENIGMA. 

What Samson embraced, when revenge for his eyes, 

Provoked the huge warrior to tumble down legions ; 
What oft, thro' the night, from some ruined church 
cries, 

Harsh- voiced as a native of Pluto's pale regions ; 
The female whose folly all mankind impeach, 

That e'er she was formed to embitter enjoyment; 
The little emphatical main-spring of speech, 

Whose pleasure is toil, and whose ease is employ- 
ment. 
Pick out the initials of each of their names, 

And his who destroyed, and then bowed down to 
witches ; 
Which done, a known title your notice then claims, 

Of a parcel of poor, insignificant wretches. 



-(g) 



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WITH AN EMPTY INK-GLASS. 

A present, perhaps, you'll conclude this to be, 
But opened, and keep down the brink, — 

Surprised you're no doubt at a message sae wee, 
A dirty bit bottle for ink. 

Yet, sma' though it seem, 'tis a manifest truth, 

That castles frae out o't hae risen, 
And claughans, and mountains, maun start frae its 
mouth, 

And critics in mony a stern dozen. 

Then since sic a terrible squad's to be drawn, 
Sican thrangs o' corruption and evil ; 

Let the liquor, guid sir, that you send ower the lawn, 
Be as black, and as smooth as the devil ! 



While Wilson wrought in Lochwinnoch, he was much impor- 
tuned by one of his shopmates to write him an epitaph. This 
individual had excelled in little except " daundering" upon the 
Sundays about the hedgerows and whin bushes in search of birds' 
nests. Wilson for a long time resisted the entreaties of his com- 
panion, for his best reason, that there was nothing in his charac- 
ter that could entitle him to a couplet ; but being hard pressed, 
he burst forth with the following extemporaneous hit, which at 
once silenced the inquirer, and set his shopmates into a roar of 
laughter at his expense. — Sir W. Jardine's edition of the Ame- 
rican Ornithology. 

Below this stane John Allan rests ; 

An honest soul, though plain ; 
He sought hale Sabbath days for nests, 

But always sought in vain ! 



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Wilson's songs. 293 



Dark lowers the night o'er the wide stormy main, 
Till mild rosy morning rise cheerful again ; 
Alas ! morn returns to revisit our shore ; 
But Connel returns to his Flora no more ! 

For see, on yon mountain, the dark cloud of death, 
O'er Connel's lone cottage, lies low on the heath ; 
While bloody and pale, on a far distant shore, 
He lies to return to his Flora no more. 

Ye light fleeting spirits that glide o'er yon steep, 
O would ye but waft me across the wild deep ; 
There fearless I'd mix in the battle's loud roar, 
Fd die with my Connel, and leave him no more ! 



A SONG. 

Air — "Patie's Wedding." 
On Hogmenae night, as ye'll hear, 

Our noble good masters being willing 
To help us to haud the New Year, 

Sent up twenty hogs and a shilling : 
The table in Mitchell's was laid, 

That reached frae ae end to the ither, 
A claith white as snaw o'er't was spread, 

And knives, plates, and forks, a' thegither. 

There were Dempster, and Brodie, and Dott, 

The Landlord, and wee Danie Murray, 
Geordie Kemp, wi' a spark in the throat, 

And Andrew, wha's ne'er in a hurry. 
Saunders Wright, Murray, Sandy, and Knox, 

And Mitchell, and Wilson, and Miller, 
A core o' as good hearty cocks 

As e'er spent a saxpence o' siller. 



294 



WILSON S SOMGS. 



At seven, the hour that was set, 

By ane and ane inward they drappit, 
Till ance maist a dizen had met, 

And syne for some porter we rappit* 
At length by a ehiel 'twas proposed, 

Wha langed to devour like a glutton, 
That gin we were a' sae disposed, 

We might send for the roast beef and mutton. 

So Dempster, and Brodie, in Co., 

Like lamplighters ran to the baker's* 
We drank in the meantime as slow, 

And dowse, as a meeting of Quakers, 
At length the twa carriers appeared, 

The ne*er a ane then had the spavy ; 
And Brodie soon slairyed his beard 

Wi' braw creeshie platefu's of gravy. 

Sic clashing of knives, plates, and forks. 

Was hardly e'er heard at a weddin', 
The bottles were cleared o' their corks, 

And plate after platefu' was laid in. 
Slow Andrew drank brue like a fish, 

For beef he had no meikle share in't, 
And Brodie's chin glittered wi' creesh, 

Till some swore they saw themsells fair in't* 

Now ilka ane, swelled like a drum, 

With roast beef, potatoes, and mutton, 
Eight steeve grew the stomachs of some, 

While button was lowsed after button. 
The banes a' thegither were got, 

And plates and a' cleared frae the table, 
And the landlord desired, by a vote, 

For a stoupfu' as quick's he was able. 

The board was now lifted awa', 

And round gaed a mutchkin o' brandy, 



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wilson's songs. 295 

The chairs were set round in a raw, 

For ilka ane thought it mair handy. 
A chairman was also j udged right, 

To clear up a' difficult cases ; 
So by vote 'twas declared, " That this night 

John Brodie is chairman and preses." 

This business was hardly got ower, 

When up started President Brodie, 
" I order" (quo' he with a glower) 

" That they bring in a bowlfu' o' toddy." 
The liquor was brought in a blink, 

Six glasses soon glanced on the table ; 
" Here's — May all our enemies sink, 

Or swing through the air in a cable." 

" Success to Montgomerie and Co.," 

" May our trade nourish brighter and brighter," 
" May our purses aye weightier grow, 

" Our cares and our troubles aye lighter." 
" May we ever be grateful for gude" — 

" May ne'er ony waur be among us" — 
" May courage aye warm up our blude 

To cudgel the scoundrels that wrang us." 

Now some fall to singing of sangs, 

And others to roaring and bleth'rin' ; 
They rappit like fire with the tangs, 

" Our bowl's toom, come bring us anither in." 
" Silence," (quo' Brodie) " nae clash 

I say." But to ilka ane's wonder, 
Down hurled the furm with a crash, 

And levelled the preses like thunder. 

It's past a' description to tell 

How toddy inspired ev'ry bosom, 
How aften our president fell, 

How aft it was moved to depose him ; 



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296 wilson's songs. 

How Andrew sang "Blythe was the night," 
And, "Hummle, dum tweedle, dum tweedle;" 

How ev'ry ane's wit grew as bright 
And as sharp as the point of a needle. 

With laughing, and roaring, and drink, 

At last we grew doited and weary ; 
Auld Saunders begoud for to wink, 

Syne couped as sound as a peerie. 
Ae shilling was now to the fore, 

We buried it soon in our stomachs, 
Syne groupin' to find out the door, 

Gaed swaggerin' a' hame to our hammocks. 



A SONG. 

Tune, — " Poor Laurie." 
Come fill up the bowl, my brave boys ! 

And round let us circle the treasure ; 
Huzza ! my good fellows, rejoice ! 

For here is a fountain of pleasure. 
And while the big bumper doth pass, 

Old Bacchus shall never confound me ; 
I'll drink, and, between every glass, 

Loud roar of the wits that surround me, 
And bring their each talent to view. 

Imprimis. Here sits by my side, 

A hum'rous young son of the Muses, 
Who lord o'er our passions can ride, 

And wind them whenever he chooses. 
The terrible frown he can form, 

Look dismally holy thereafter, 
Then screw up his face to a storm, 

That nigh bursts the beholder with laughter, 
And makes ev'ry mortal his friend. 



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wilson's songs. 297 

That little stout fellow in green, 

Observe how accomplished and tight he's ; 
Good humour sits full in his mien, 

And mirth his eternal delight is. 
When through the wild hornpipe he sweeps, 

We stare as we never had seen him, 
So nimbly he capers and leaps, 

You would swear that some devil was in him, 
To flourish his heels so expert. 

See ! handing the glass to his friend, 

Young Jamie, polite and endearing ; 
To please he is ever inclined, 

Though sometimes harassingly jeering. 
So sweetly a sonnet he sings, 

He chats to the ladies so clever, 
That Cupid should sure give him wings, 

And make him his archer for ever, 
To level the beauties and belles. 

And there sits the genius of song, 

Whose music so nobly can warm us, 
The fife now arousingly strong, 

Now waking the viol to charm us : 
Yet sometimes he's mournfully mute, 

And though we implore while we're able, 
He frowning refuses the flute, 

And pensively leans on the table, 
As if he were lulled in a trance. 

With golden locks loose to the wind, 

Here sits a swain, kind and free-hearted, 
To ev'ry one science inclined, 

By every amusement diverted. 
Philosophy, painting, and song, 

Alternately gain his affection, 
But his bliss is to store up a throng 

Of insects and worms for dissection, 
Of numberless sizes and kinds. 

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Here Wilson and Poverty sits, 

Perpetually boxing together, 
Till beat by good liquor she flits, 

And leaves him as light as a feather. 
Prom two most unfortunate views, 

Proceeds his inconstant condition ; 
His joys are the smiles of the Muse, 

And his mis'ry the want of ambition, 
To climb to the notice of fools. 

But round with the liquor, my boys ! 

'Tis folly to languish repining ; 
To swell up the tide of our joys, 

This brimmer was sent us so shining. 
Since blockheads and asses grow rich, 

And modesty murders the wearer, 
If merit must cow'r in the ditch, 

May she still have a bumper to cheer her, 
And raise her poor head to the skies. 



ffimig fa 



Deploring beside an old loom, 

A weaver perplexed was laid, 
And, while a bad web was his theme, 

The breast-beam supported his head ; 
The walls, that for ages had stood, 

In sympathy, wept for his pain, 
And the roof, though of old rotten wood, 

Remurmured his groans back again. 

" Alas ! simple fool that I was !" 
These words he roared out with a grin, 

"When I saw thee, I sure was an ass, 
Else I'd died ere I handled the pin. 



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wilson's songs. 299 

Thou glanced, and transported I seemed ; 

When I held thee, how panted my breast ! 
In raptures I gazed while thou beamed, 

And exclaimed, ' Was e'er mortal so blest !' 
What a blockhead was I to aver, 

It would work through a mounting so fine ; 
Or, that such a phantom of hair, 

Would in a gay handkerchief shine ? 
Good Gods ! shall a mortal with legs, 

So low, uncomplaining, be brought ! 
Go, hung, like a scarecrow in rags, 

And live o'er a seat- tree— = on nought ! 
What though I have patience to tie, 

Till their numbers my temples o'erspread, 
Whene'er the smooth tread I apply, 

My shopmates deplore how I've sped. 
Ah ! Sandy, thy hopes are in vain ; 

Thy web and thy mounting resign.; 
Perhaps they may fall to a swain, 

Whose patience is greater than thine. 
And you my proud masters so stern, 

Who smile o'er the wretch ye torment, 
Eorbear to import us such yarn, 

Or, by Jove, you'll have cause to repent. 
Though through the wide warehouse ye foam, 

In vain shall ye threaten or mourn ; 
'Twas yours to distress my poor dome, 

Now 'tis mine, and triumphant I'll burn. 
If, while the poor trash I pull down, 

They expect to regain my esteem, 
Let them come with the crowds of the town, 

And see how it flames from the beam. 
And then the last boon I'll implore, 

Is to bless us with China so tight, . 
And when the pure piece you look o'er, 

You will own my petition was right. 



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Then to London nymphs let it go, 

And deck them in dazzling array ; 
Be fairest at ev'ry fine show, 

And bring us the heart-cheering pay. 
Then Nova's dead bell we will toll, 

JSTo more to be heard of or seen, 
Unless, when beside a full bowl, 

We laugh at how wretched we've been.' 



While Phoebus reposes in Thetis's bosom, 

While, white through the branches the moonlight 
is seen; 
Here, lonely, I rove, near the old hawthorn's blos- 
som, 
To meet with my Matty, and stray o'er the green. 

Nor hardship, nor care, now my bosom harasses, 
My moments, from fame, and its nonsense are free ; 

Ambition I leave to the folly of asses, 
For Matty is fame and ambition to me. 

The great may exclaim, and with fury enclose me, 
But fools, or the rabble, shall growl now in vain , 

Their madness, their malice, shall ne'er discompose 
me, 
Since Matty commends, and delights in my strain ; 

And kind is the lovely, the charming young crea- 
ture; 

Sweet beauty and innocence smile in her cheek ; 
In raptures I wander, and gaze o'er each feature, 

My bosom unable its transports to speak. 

When locked arm in arm we retire from the city, 
To stray through the meadow or shadowy grove, 

How oft do I wake her compassion and pity, 
While telling some tale of unfortunate love. 



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wilson's songs. 301 

Her innocent answers delight me to hear them, 
For art or dissembling to her are unknown ; 

And false protestations she knows not to fear them, 
But thinks that each heart is as kind as her own. 

And lives there a villain, who born to dissemble, 
Would dare an attempt to dishonour her fame, 

May blackest confusion, surrounding, assemble, 
And bury the wretch in distraction and shame. 

Ye Powers ! be my task to protect and behold her, 
To wander delighted with her all the day ; 

When sadness dejects, in my arms to enfold her, 
And kiss, in soft raptures, her sorrows away. 

But, hush ! who comes yonder? 'tis Matty my dearest, 
The moon, how it brightens, while she treads the 
plain ! 

I'll welcome my beautiful nymph, by the nearest, 
And pour my whole soul in her bosom again. 



01- fetkt-^ m^, 

A SO> T G. 

O'er the evils of life 'tis a folly to fret, 
Despondence and grief never lessen'd them yet; 
Then a fig for the world — let it come as it goes, 
I'll sing to the praise of my landlady's nose. 

My landlady's nose is in noble condition, 
For longitude, latitude, shape, and position, 
'Tis as round as a horn, and as red as a rose, 
Success to the hulk of my landlady's nose. 

To jewellers' shops let your ladies repair, 
For trinkets and nick-nacks to give them an air ; 
Here living carbuncles, a score of them glows 
On the big massy sides of my landlady's nose. 

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302 wilson's songs. 

Old Patrick M'Dougherty when on the fuddle, 
Pulls out a cigar, and looks up to her noddle ; 
For Dougherty swears, when he swigs a good dose, 
By Marjory's firebrand, my landlady's nose. 

Ye wishy-wash butter-milk drinkers so cold, 
Come here, and the virtues of brandy behold ; 
Here's red burning .ZEtna, a mountain of snows, 
Would roar down in streams from my landlady's nose. 

Each cavern profound of this snuff- loving snout, 
Is furnished within, sir, as well as without ; 
O'er the brown upper lip such a cordial flows — 

the cordial brown drops of my landlady's nose. 

But, Gods ! when this trunk with an uplifted arm, 
She grasps in the dish-clout to blow an alarm ; 
Horns, trumpets, and conchs^ are but screaming of 

crows, 
To the loud thundering twang of my landlady's nose. 

My landlady's nose unto me is a treasure, 

A care-killing nostrum — a fountain of pleasure ; 

If I want for a laugh to discard all my woes, 

1 only look up to my landlady's nose. 



Tune, — " One bottle more.*' 
From the village of Lessly, with a head full of glee, 
And my pack on my shoulders, I rambled out free ; 
Resolved that same evening, as Luna was full, 
To lodge ten miles distant, in old Auchtertool. 

Through many a lone cottage and farm-house I 

steered, 
Took their money, and off with my budget I sheered ; 
The road I explored out without form or rule, 
Still asking the nearest to old Auchtertool. 



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Wilson's songs. 303 

A clown I accosted, inquiring the road, 
He stared like an idiot, then roared out " Gude G-d, 
Gin ye're gaun there for quarters ye're surely a fool, 
For there's nought but starvation in old Auchtertool." 

Unminding his nonsense, my march I pursued, 
Till I came to a hill- top, where joyful I viewed, 
Surrounded with mountains, and many a white pool, 
The small smoky village of old Auchtertool. 

At length I arrived at the edge of the town, 
As Phoebus behind a high mountain went down; 
The clouds gathered dreary, and weather blew foul, 
And I hugged myself safe now in old Auchtertool. 

An inn I inquired out, a lodging desired, 
But the landlady's pertness seemed instantly fired; 
For she saucy replied, as she sat carding wool, 
"I ne'er keep sic lodgers in auld Auchtertool." 

With scorn I soon left her to live on her pride, 
But asking, was told there was none else beside, 
Except an old weaver who now kept a school, 
And these were the whole that were in Auchtertool. 

To his mansion I scampered, and rapt at the door, 
He op'd, but as soon as I dared to implore, 
He shut it like thunder, and uttered a howl, 
That rung through each corner of old Auchtertool. 

Provoked now to fury, the dominie I curst, 
And offered to cudgel the wretch, if he durst ; 
But the door he fast bolted, though Boreas blew cool, 
And left me all friendless in old Auchtertool. 

Deprived of all shelter, through darkness I trod, 
Till I came to a ruined old house by the road ; 
Here the night I will spend, and, inspired by the owl, 
I'll send up some prayers for old Auchtertool. 



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304 wilson's songs. 



A PATRIOTIC SONG. 

Air—" Willie was a wanton wag." 

The gloomy night before us flies, 

The reign of terror now is o'er, 
Its gags, inquisitors, and spies, 

Its herds of harpies are no more. 

CHORUS. 

Kejoice! Columbia's sons, rejoice, 
To tyrants never bend the knee, 

But join, with heart, and soul, and voice, 
For Jefferson and Liberty. 

Hail ! long expected, glorious day : 

Illustrious, memorable morn ! 
That freedom's fabric, from decay, 

Rebuilds for millions yet unborn. 

His country's glory, hope, and stay ; 

In virtue and in talents tried, 
Now rises to assume the sway — 

O'er this great temple to preside. 

Within its hallowed walls immense, 
No hireling bands shall e'er arise ; 

Arrayed in tyranny's defence, 

To crush an injured people's cries. 

No lordling here, with gorging jaws, 
Shall wring from industry her food ; 

No holy bigot's fiery laws 

Lay waste our ruined fields in blood. 

Here, strangers from a thousand shores, 

Compelled by tyranny to roam, 
Still find, amidst abundant stores, 

A nobler, and a happier home. 



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wilson's songs. 305 

Here art shall lift her laurelled head, 

Wealth, industry, and peace divine ; 
And where unbounded forests spread, 

Shall fields and lofty cities shine. 
From Europe's wants and woes remote, 

A friendly waste of waves between ; 
Here plenty cheers the humblest cot, 

And smiles on every village green. 
Here, free as air's expanded space, 

To every soul and sect shall be, 
That sacred privilege of our race, 

The worship of the Deity. 
These gifts, great Liberty, are thine : 

Ten thousand more we owe to thee ; 
Immortal may their memories shine, 

Who fought and died for liberty. 
What heart but hails a scene so bright ? 

What soul but inspiration draws ? 
Who would not guard so dear a right, 

Or die in such a glorious cause ? 
Let foes to freedom dread the name ; 

But should they touch this sacred tree, 
Thrice fifty thousand swords shall flame, 

For Jefferson and Liberty ! 
O'er vast Columbia's varied clime, 

Her cities, forests, shores, and dales, 
In rising majesty sublime, 

Immortal liberty prevails. 
From Georgia to Lake Champlain, 

From seas to Mississippi's shore, 
Ye sons of freedom loud proclaim, 

The reign of terror is no more. 
Rejoice ! Columbia's sons rejoice, 

To tyrants never bend the knee, 
But join, with heart, and soul, and voice, 
For Jefferson and Liberty ! 



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306 Wilson's songs. 



A SONG. 

Tune, — " Happy Clown." 
Come join with me, ye rural swains, 
And wake the reed to cheerful strains, 
Since winter now has fled our plains, 

With all his rueful store : 
No more the furious blust'ring sky, 
From Greenland's dreary mountains high, 
(Where worlds of ice tumultuous lie) 
Extends the mighty roar. 

With dark'ning rage o'er yon rude Forth, 
No more the chill bleak breathing north, 
Grim throws the fleecy tempest forth, 

Thick thro' the black'ning sky ; 
Till o'er each hill and sullen vale, 
An universal white prevail, 
And deep beneath the snowy veil, 

The sad creation lie. 

The hoary tyrant now has fled, 

Young blooming Spring our fields o'erspread, 

Hope, wealth, and joy are by her led, 

An all-enliv'ning train. 
Along yon dale, or daisied mead, 
Soon as young Morn uplifts her head, 
The hind yokes in the willing steed, 

Blithe whistling o'er the lawn ; 
The stately grove and thick'ning wood, 
That Winter's furious blasts withstood, 
Unfold the verdant leafy brood, 

High waving in the air ; 
While o'er the mountain's grassy steep, 
Are heard the tender bleating sheep, 
Around the wanton lambkins leap, 

At once their joy and care. 



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Wilson's songs. 307 

Amid the bower, with wood-bines wove, 
Throughout the flower-enamelled grove 
The humming bees unwearied rove, 

Gay bloomy sweets among ; 
The cheerful birds, of varied hue, 
Their sweet meand'ring notes pursue ; 
High soars the lark, and lost to view, 

Pours forth his grateful song. 

The wand'ring brook — the glitt'ring rill, 
The cuckoo's note heard from the hill, 
The warbling thrush and black-bird shrill, 

Inspire with rapt'rous glee : 
Then join the choir, each nymph and swain, 
Through ev'ry grove, and flow'ry plain, 
'Till hills resound the joyful strain, 

Harmonious to each tree. 



Tune, — " Her Sheep all in clusters." 

Ye dark rugged rocks, that recline o'er the deep, 

Ye breezes that sigh o'er the main, 
Here shelter me under your cliffs, while I weep, 

And cease, while ye hear me complain ; 
For distant, alas ! from my native dear shores, 

And far from each friend now I be ; 
And wide is the merciless ocean that roars, 

Between my Matilda and me. 

How blest were the times when together we strayed, 

While Phoebe shone silent above ; 
Or leaned by the border of Cartha's green side, 

And talked the whole evening of love ; 



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308 wilson's songs. 

Around us all nature lay wrapt up in peace, 
Nor noise could our pleasures annoy, 

Save Cartha's hoarse brawling, conveyed by the 
breeze, 
That soothed us to love and to joy. 

If haply some youth had his passion exprest, 

And praised the bright charms of her face, 
"What horrors, unceasing, revolved thro' my breast, 

While sighing I stole from the place. 
For where is the eye that could view her alone, 

The ear that could list to her strain, 
Nor wish the adorable nymph for his own, 

Nor double the pangs I sustain ? 

Thou moon ! that now brightens those regions above, 

How oft hast thou witnessed my bliss ! 
While breathing my tender expressions of love, 

I sealed each kind vow with a kiss. 
Ah ! then, how I joyed, while I gazed on her charms ! 

What transports flew swift through my heart ! 
I pressed the dear beautiful maid in my 'arms, 

Nor dreamed that we ever would part. 

But now from the dear, from the tenderest maid, 

By fortune unfeelingly torn ; 
'Midst strangers, who wonder to see me so sad, 

In secret I wander forlorn ; 
And oft when drear midnight assembles her shades, 

And Silence pours sleep from her throne, 
Pale, lonely, and pensive, I steal through the glades, 

And sigh 'midst the darkness my moan. 

In vain to the town I retreat for relief; 

In vain to the groves I complain ; 
Belles, coxcombs, and uproar, can ne'er soothe my 
grief, 

And solitude nurses my pain. 



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NOTES TO THE POEMS. 309 

Still absent from her whom my bosom loves best, 

I languish in misery and care ; 
Her presence could banish each woe from my breast, 

But her absence, alas ! is despair. 

Ye dark rugged rocks, that recline o'er the deep ; 

Ye breezes, that sigh o'er the main ; 
Oh ! shelter me under your cliffs, while I weep, 

And cease, while ye hear me complain. 
Eor distant, alas ! from my native dear shores, 

And far from each friend now I be ; 
And wide is the merciless ocean, that roars 

Between my Matilda and me. 



NOTES TO THE POEMS. 



ALEXIS' COMPLAINT.— Page 4. 
In this poem, Alexis, which name Wilson has here employed 
to personate himself, mourns the death of his friend (W. Woth- 
erspoon), " young Damon." There are some pretty lines in this 
piece, particularly the following, for the sentiment : — 
" Short is the span 
Of fleeting time allowed to feeble man ! 
No sooner born, he fills the air with cries ; 
No sooner known, than pale, he droops and dies ! 
To-day he laughs the dancing hours away ; 
To-morrow lies extended, lifeless clay." 

EPISTLE TO MR. DAVID BRODIE.— Page 7. 
This friend of Wilson was, at the time he borrowed from him 
Fergusson's Poems, before delivering his " Laurel Disputed" at 
Edinburgh, a teacher of a school in Quarellton, a little village si- 
tuated on the high road between Lochwinnoch and Paisley. He 



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310 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 

was a very intelligent man, but of a very eccentric kind of charac- 
ter, and was at that time a favourite with all the youths acquainted 
with him, for his peculiarities. He makes a conspicuous figure 
in the song "Hogmenae ; " and Wilson thus speaks of him in a letter 
written to their friend, Mr. Thomas Crichton, dated October 28, 
1811 : " If you see my old friend, David Brodie (for I understand 
he still treads this earth in propria persona), present him with 
my respects. He and I mutually studied each other's character 
for some time, with the laudable design of telling each other all 
that we knew ridiculous and contemptible of each other. My 
report was made first, and in fall detail; David's never made its 
appearance, and so I lost a very favourable opportunity of know- 
ing my own faults. I suppose he found me so heterogeneous and 
contradictory — so confounded bad, and entangled, that he did not 
know at which end to begin." 

VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF AN ENGAGING 

YOUTH.— Page 15. 
These verses allude to the death of William Wotherspoon, a 
young brother of Thomas Wotherspoon, whom Wilson calls, in 
his epistle to him " Dear Tom ! my friend, and my dearest com- 
panion," — see note to " Alexis' Complaint," and to " Elegy on the 
Death of W. Wotherspoon." 

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF W. WOTHERSPOON.— 

i 19. 



This elegy was written on the death of one of the author's most 
intimate acquaintances, who was suddenly cut on° in the prime of 
youth and expectation, by a fever, in the year 1788. He was a 
very amiable young man, well informed, fond of acquiring know- 
ledge, and following literary pursuits, and had received a liberal 
education, with the design of becoming a clergyman. Wilson's 
heart was ever feelingly sensitive to the most tender sentiments 
of friendship. 

THUNDER STORM.— Page 31. 
This poem is supposed to relate to a great spate, or inundation 
of the river Cart, which rose a considerable height, flooding the 
houses on its banks ; and the highest rock at the Seedhills Falls, 
denominated the " Hamels," was completely hid among the 
roaring waters, save its little round top, which was on this occa- 
sion likened to a man's bonnet. Stones in the Seedhill and in 
Marshall's Lane, are seen, on which are inscribed these words : 
" The height of flood, March 12, 1782." Damon's Dome is the 



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NOTES TO THE POEMS. 311 

name by which Wilson is pleased to designate the residence of 
his old comrade, Thomas Wotherspoon, with whom he lodged 
while a journeyman weaver in Paisley, and to whom he addressed 
his fine " Epistle," which has the following lines, which may be 
considered as having been written in-the spirit of prophecy ; for 
how true, even to the last letter, has the lines been realized, or 
fulfilled, by the latter part of the author's life : — 

" Then farewell ! my friend, and my dearest companion, 

With tears I now bid you a final adieu ; 
Some far distant country for life I'll remain on, 

Where Mem'ry shall weep while she hovers o'er you." 
The house alluded to was the second to the one in which the 
author of these noble lines was born. It stood the next to Cart, 
of the row, and jutted out into the river. 

ELEGY ON THE LONG EXPECTED DEATH OF A 
WRETCHED MISER.— Page 34. 
The following is the account given in the " Paisley Magazine," 
of the origin of this poem, but as to the truth of it we are unable 
to say. However, we caution the reader to place little confidence 
in any statement regarding Wilson or his productions, to be seen 
in that work, the veracity of which we much doubt. The state- 
ment mentions that the hero, " Craig of Fauldheads kept aloof 
from the society" of old Wilson's family, and calling him an "illi- 
cit distiller," when in reality he was a farmer at that time. It then 
says, that "the poet, it is to be hoped, had his account of the 
4 Death of a Miser' derived from hearsay only. Old Fauldheads, 
although he was rather niggardly, was considered an intelligent 
man, especially about country business, as laying out roads, 
dykes, &c. He was a widower, and took unto himself another 
wife, Meg Duncan, from Beith, in 1784. Meg was young, and 
he was old; she unchaste, and plundered her husband's gear." 
We are rather inclined to think that Ramsay's " Last speech of 
a Miser" furnished Wilson with the plan of this elegy. 

A MORNING ADVENTURE.— Page 37. 
In this poem the author describes an incident in which he was 
an actor, and which happened w r hile he resided in Lochwinnoch. 
It may be told as follows : — Wilson and two of his friends were 
enjoying themselves, one Sabbath morning, with a rural walk on 
the neighbouring hills, accompanied by a dog, which attacked a 
bull, and after a fierce encounter, both fell struggling from the 
summit of a fearful precipice, called Raven's Craig, about GO feet 
T 2 



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312 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 

high. The bull being destroyed, an action for recovery of da- 
mages was threatened against the parties, but which, happily, did 
not take place, The proprietor was very wroth at them, and 
whenever he alluded to the accident, was wont to exclaim, in his 
own peculiarly graphic language, " A' the hair, and a' the hide, 
whilk Gude Almichty, in his blessed wisdom, had bestowed on 
the bill, was tirred aff by the daffin o' a wheen wabster dyvours." 

ELEGY.— Page 42. 

There are some pretty lines, and fine sentiment, in this obscure 
little piece, which has never been reprinted from where it first 
appeared, — his second edition, 1791 — and we have much plea- 
sure in rescuing it from oblivion ; for among his English poems, 
written before he went to America, this one, for its extreme 
beauty, will rank among his very best, in point of merit. 

ELEGY ON AN UNFORTUNATE TAILOR.— Page 44. 

The hero of this poem was a tailor, who trudged from one 
country house to another, repairing the inmates' garments, for 
his meat and a small gratuity. He had been rather tipsy one 
dark night, and wending his way home, fell into the lade, or ca- 
nal, which conducts water to one of the large cotton mills in 
Lochwinnoch. He was not drow T ned, however, as the poem states, 
hut was fortunate enough to receive only a sound ducking, and 
having his senses for once completely sobered. 

INVOCATION.- Page 53. 

On reading this poem, we cannot help indentifying the hero, 
however ludicrous is the situation in which he is placed, with 
Wilson, from the well known fact, that he was often in want of 
the common necessaries of life, particularly when he enacted the 
characters of weaver and pedlar, and the like unsuccessful one of 
poet. Poverty, at this period of his life, stalked with him as his 
shadow, and therefore we cannot wonder at him thus apostro- 
phizing the " haggard harlot," in his " Expostulatory address to 
the ragged spectre, Poverty :" 

" If the Muse, 
Deign at times to bliss my brow, 
I lift the pen— prepare for study ; 
There thou stares, grim, ghastly, duddy ; 
Shakes thy rags— begins thy grieving ; 
Terrifies the Muse to heaven ; 

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NOTES TO THE POE3IS. 313 

Then displays my pockets empty ; 

Belly worse, and all to tempt me. 

Humour, rhyming, headlong scampers ; 

Rotten stockings, soleless trampers ; 

Nameless torments, crowds of evils, 

Grin around, like real devils !" 

Indeed the second verse, where he speaks of his living in a 

garret, — 

" Where many a long day, 

Hard Poverty held the poor sinner." 
And from which lie continues, — 

" A pale tattered poet pursued his lone way, 
To lose thought of care— and of dinner !" 
describes what in reality was many a time the case with its au- 
thor ; and he might, if this does not in reality allude to his own 
situation, have said too truly with reference to himself, in the 
words of the eighth verse, — 

" Blow softer, kind zephyrs ! oh, pity my clothes ; 
Nor rave so ;" 

for the scantiness of his wardrobe, rather sore worn, was unfor- 
tunately too apparent not to be noticed, and to cause many a 
bitter reflection to the wearer. 

The truth of this is painfully borne out by the following ex- 
tract from the Memoir of Wilson, by Sir W. Jardine, in his 
splendid edition of the American Ornithology : — " Wilson was 
fond of music and dancing, and in the latter branch, bore the 
character of a neat and light performer. In those days, the fa- 
shionable ball dress among persons in his sphere of life, was knee 
breeches, white stockings, and black gaiters, or, as they are called 
kutikens. Being one evening invited to a ball, given by some of 
his young companions, he found himself reduced to a single pair 
of white thread stockings, rather the worse of the wear, and not 
improved in purity of colour. Knowing that he was looked up 
to be a pattern for neatness, and unwilling to be disappointed, he 
chalked the upper part of his stockings, and finished the decep- 
tion by painting upon the lower part a pair of black gaiters. He 
spent the evening to his satisfaction; and returned to his home 
undiscovered." 

TO THE FAMISHING BARD.— Page So. 
Ebenezer Picken is undoubtedly the " Famishing Bard," to 
whom this serio-comic poem is addressed. 



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314 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 

LOCHWINNOCH.— Page 71. 
The date and origin of this descriptive poem, his largest Eng- 
lish poem written in Britain, is told in the following extract from 
a letter addressed to his friend, Mr. David Brodie, dated from 
Edinburgh, Nov. 10th, 1789, the year before he published his vo- 
lume of poems :— " Since I saw you, I have finished several pieces 
in English verse, particularly a poem entitled ' Lochwinnoch,' in 
which I have drawn the character of Mr. M'Dowal so as to please 
you, and perhaps himself." 

" High o'er their proudest peaks, oft hid in showers, 
The impervious Misty-law superior towers." — p. 77. 
There is a curious anecdote connected with this mountain, at 
the period of the rebellion in 1745, and presents rather a laugh- 
able picture of the fear which haunted the country people on that 
memorable and disastrous event. We copy from the " Paisley 
Advertiser," 1832, what follows : " The farmers of the low lying 
lands near Lochwinnoch, Renfrewshire, drove their cattle to the 
Misty-law muir, as a place of security. When the procession 
had passed the Market-hill, the wife of John Allan, at the same 
mailing (farm-house), took a sudden fear, and mistook the 
trampling of the horses for that of the rebels. She quaked, and 
cried, ' The highland rabeatours (robbers,) are here ; we're a' 
ruined and ravished !' The women buried their rings and siller 
hearts in the peat ashes. The Sempills, of Beltrees, who resided 
at the Third part, concealed their plate, and other valuable 
things, under the soil of the Barbowie, a farm opposite to Third 
part, over the water, at Black Cart." 

" Near the bleak border of these lonely moors, 
Where o'er the brook the mossy margin lowers ; 
'Midst clustering trees, and sweet surrounding dells, 
In rural cot, a rustic poet dwells." — p. 78. 

The name of this individual was Hugh Brodie. He delivered 
a poetic essay on the rearing of potatoes, in January, 1769, before 
an Agricultural Society. It consisted of no less than sixty Sem- 
pilltonain stanzas ; and as a specimen, we quote the two con- 
cluding verses : — 

" Much mair, indeed, I might advance, 
Of various seasons, time, and chance, 
And o' a poweriu' governance, 

Without control ; 
But wisdom, power, and Providence 

Governs the whole. 



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NOTES TO THE POEMS. 315 

"But some may think my verse not good, 
By others not weel understood ; 
Sae, least in speaking, I intrude 

Upo' your time, 
I think it proper to conclude, 

And stop my rhyme." 

ANEXPOSTULATORY ADDRESS TO THE RAGGED 
SPECTRE, POVERTY.— Page 83. 
The same remarks apply to this poem as are to " Invocation" 
— see note to the latter. 

TO THE HON. WILLIAM M'DOWALL, OF GARTH- 
LAND.— Page 89. 

Whether ever Wilson received any benefit from this gentle- 
man, does not appear. Probably he did ; but no matter which 
way, it is truly honourable to Wilson to see so many fine compli- 
ments, in his poems, to this deserving gentleman, of whose life 
the following is a brief sketch : — 

William M'Dowall, third of Castlesemple, succeeded his 
father in 1785, and was appointed Lord Lieutenant of Renfrew- 
shire in 1793 ; and remained in that office during life. He also 
represented the county in five different parliaments, beginning in 
1783, again in 1784, 1802, and in 1807, in which last he continued 
till the period of his death, the 2nd of May, 1810. He likewise 
was member for Ayrshire, in 1791 ; and in 1785 represented the 
city of Glasgow. He was of considerable service to his country, 
and possessed singular talents, and was much respected by all 
classes of society, for his benevolent and praiseworthy disposi- 
tion. In the east gallery of the Paisley abbey, placed underneath 
the fine arehed window of stained glass, is a splendid monument 
to his memory, erected by the county of Renfrew, at an expense 
of £800. It is composed of beautiful white marble, and was de- 
signed by Flaxman, and executed by Gowans, of Edinburgh. 

VERSES ON SEEING TWO MEN SAWING TIMBER. 
—Page 94. 

This excellent little piece was in his first edition, and appeared in 
the " Bee," January 18th, 1792. It had, prefixed to it, in that 
periodical, by the editor, Dr. Anderson, the following most 
karned and sagacious note, which we transcribe for the edifica- 
tion of the reader : — " Our readers in general, we hope, will par- 
don us for indulging a young author for once, in his attempt to 



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316 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 

display his talents in this antiquated and affected language." 
What would this acute critic of genuine Scottish poetry have said 
concerning "Watty and Meg," had it been sent to him ? But 
whether the " young author" or not sent any more pieces " in 
this antiquated and affected language," does not appear ; certainly 
no other Scottish poem by Wilson, appears in the " Bee," after 
this " once." 

THE DISCONSOLATE WREN.— Page 95. 
The banks of Calder, near the Loups, furnished Wilson with 
the incidents and scenery of this beautiful and pathetic poem, in 
which he describes, so touchingly and feelingly, the habits and 
affections of the birds, in a manner evincing great accuracy of 
observation. He says, in the introduction to the " Ornithology," 
that he had, from his infancy, a fondness for birds ; and the fol- 
lowing lines from " Lochwinnoch," a descriptive poem, show 
that he was acquainted with the feathered creation in early life. 
" Here stalks the heron, gazing in the lake, 
The snowy swan, and party-coloured drake ; 
The bittern lone, that shakes the solid ground, 
While through still midnight groans the hollow sound ; 
The noisy goose, the teal in black'ning trains, 
The long-billed snipe, that knows approaching rains." 

RABBY'S MISTAKE.— Page 101. 
The origin, and where the scene is laid, of this poem, is thus 
told in the " Paisley Magazine," 1828 : — " The hero of it was 
Robin Stirrat, at the Loch head. He was a tall, spare, and 
slender man, and likewise ' douce,' a character suitable to his 
elevated office — the precentor of the kirk. He was a great reader 
of religious books. He was ' sand-blin',' of course. He com- 
mitted the heroic exploit commemorated in this poem. This ex- 
ploit happened in the Millbank glen," near Lochwinnoch. 

From diligent inquiries which we made some years ago, and 
lately, we have no hesitation in declaring that the above story from 
" Incidents in the Life of Alexander Wilson, collected in the pa- 
rish of Lochwinnoch," in the " Paisley Magazine," to be the mere 
fabrication of the writer. The account has no probability about 
it at all ; for after giving the hero such good qualities — being 
wise, sober, and a precentor in the kirk, and short-sighted, it is 
inconsistent even to suppose that a man of such a character 
would ever 

" Set out in eager search for game, 

Resolved to bring a maukin hame, 
In triumph, ower his shouther," 



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NOTES TO THE POEMS. 317 

or have the least inclination to be a sportsman, it being quite evi- 
dent to himself, that from his defective sight, he would make but 
a bad marksman ; and besides, such cruelty as he would consider 
the shooting of hares, is not in unity with his austere and blame- 
less character. If the editor of that scarce and valuable (?) work, 
had given the following old Scottish nursery rhyme, as the source 
whence Wilson drew the plan of his humorous " True Story," it 
would have been more like the truth. This nursery rhyme was 
popular long before Wilson's time, and he must have known it . 

" A Carrion crow sat on yon oak, 
Watching a tailor shape a cloak : 
'Wife,' cried he, ' bring me my bow, 
That I may shoot yon carrion crow.' 
The tailor shot, and missed his mark, 
And shot his ain sow through the heart. 
' Wife ! bring me some brandy in a spoon, 
For our puir auld sow is in a swoon.'" 

EPISTLE TO MR. EBENEZER PICKEN.— Page 106. 

Ebenezer Picken was a native of Paisley, and born about the 
year 1765. He received a liberal education at the university of 
Glasgow ; and being an only son, his father intended him for the 
church. But his strong desire to become a poet, prevailed over 
his father's intention, and he neglected his studies, published a 
thin octavo volume of Scottish poems, in the year 1788, and found 
out what he had cause to lament to the day of his death, that he 
had gone too early to press. He was smitten with the love of fol- 
lowing the footsteps of Burns, and like all others having the same 
motive, he went into their gross errors — [using low expressions, 
mean and vulgar ideas, in his productions.]— for which that class 
are now so particularly distinguished. He now gave up all hopes 
of becoming a clergyman, and commenced the unproductive pro- 
fession of schoolmaster. Some time afterwards he got to be the 
principal manager of a mercantile establishment in Edinburgh, 
and fortune seemed for a while to smile favourably onhim; buthav- 
ing embarked in a rash speculation on his own account, he was 
suddenly reduced to poverty. He again became a teacher, and in 
1813, at Edinburgh, published by subscription a new edition of 
his poems, in two small octavo volumes, considerably improved 
and augmented. He also, it is said, gave to the world a little 
volume entitled, " Scottish Dictionary." He died in poor circum- 
stances, in the year 1815 or 1816. 

Of all the poems of this unfortunate votary of the Muses, not 



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318 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 

one is publicly known, save the following bacchanalian song, 
which we quote as a fair specimen of his writing • — 

ISIgtlje are foe set fcu' ttfjer. 

Blythe are we set wi' ither ; 

Fling care ayont the moon ; 
No sae aft we meet thegither ; 

Wha wad think o' parting soon? 
Though snaw bends down the forest trees, 

And burn and river cease to flow ; 
Though nature's tide hae shored to freeze, 

And winter withers a' below. 

Blythe are we, &c. 
Now round the ingle cheerly met, 

We'll scog the blast, an' dread nae harm ; 
Wi' jaws o' toddy reeking het, 

We'll keep the genial current warm. 
The friendly chat, the cheerfu' sang, 

Shall cheat the happy hours awa' ; 
Gar pleasure reign the e'ening lang, 

And laugh at biting frost and snaw. 
Blythe are we, &c. 
The cares that cluster round the heart, 

And gar the bosom stoun wi' pain, 
Shall get a fright before we part ; 

We'll mak' them fear to come again. 
Then fill about, my winsome chiels, 

The sparkling glass will banish pine ; 
Nae pain the happy bosom feels, 

Sae free o' care as yours or mine. 
Blythe are we, &c. 

FIRST EPISTLE TO WILLIAM MITCHELL.— Page 111, 
All we know of this friend of Wilson is, that at the time he 
and Wilson were acquainted, he was resident in the Seedhills, and 
a weaver to trade, and, we believe, emigrated to America. The 
epistles addressed to him are excellent, and contain some pretty 
verses, particularly the first, which narrates a curious incident in 
the life of the pedlar. 

OSSIAN'S LAMENT.— Page 119. 
The following note by the author was prefixed to this poem, 
a part of Ossian done into rhyme, which first appeared in his 
second edition, and from which it has never been reprinted till now : 



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NOTES TO THE POEMS. 819 

— " This poem, inserted at the repeated solicitations of several 
gentlemen, who, having honoured the author with a volume of 
these beautiful pieces, requested him to attempt the versification 
of any one of them which he thought most interesting. The follow- 
ing was therefore chosen by the author, as it cannot fail to affect 
every feeling mind. Those who are acquainted with that immor- 
tal bard's works will see that the original thoughts are strictly 
retained." 

THE LAUREL DISPUTED.— Page 123. 
There were seven speakers at this memorable debate on two of 
Scotia's most illustrious sons of song. A Mr. Cumming, by 
bribery, gained the promised prize. 

" A dawd o' gowd, on this same Fursday night, 
To him wha'd show, in clinking verses drest, 
Gin Ramsay's sangs, or Fergusson's were best." 
Wilson's piece only, received the approbation of the audience, 
as being the poem highest in merit delivered ; but, not proving 
Fergusson to have done most "honour to Scottish poetry." 
Picken, the friend of Wilson, also gave his opinion in a length- 
ened piece of blank verse, which was considered third in merit. 
Of the seven candidates on the question, all took the side of Ram- 
say but Wilson ; and he only lost by 17 votes. Tickets of ad- 
mission, which cost sixpence each, were bought and distributed 
in abundance, to secure a majority of votes, and Cumming alone 
purchased forty, which he presented to some ladies of his ac- 
quaintance. Wilson was too poor to purchase tickets, and al- 
though he had been able to do so, he was too proud and indepen- 
dent to stoop to such base means of acquiring either wealth or 
fame. He was often heard to repeat this story with feelings of 
bitter reproach and disappointment. " Honest, independent, 
wealth and fame, or none," was a sentence Wilson never lost 
sight of, and it may be considered as having been his motto through 
his enterprising and remarkable life. 

HARDYKNUTE— Page 134. 
It was very absurd for Wilson to attempt an English version 
of this fine old Scottish ballad, as he must have been aware that 
a considerable part of the spirit of any piece is always lost in a 
translation, and that " Hardyknute," done into English verse, 
would be greatly injured, and appear truly ridiculous. For an 
illustration of this, the reader need only compare the four first 
lines of the Scottish copy with Wilson's English version of them, 
and he will see how beautiful and simple is the former, compared 
with the high bombast of the latter : — 
t3 



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320 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 

" Statelie stept he east the wa\ 

And statelie stept he west ; 
Full seventy ziers he now had seen, 
With skerse seven ziers of rest." 
" Along the front of his high-walled abode, 
Deep wrapt in thought the stately hero strode, 
Through his bold breast revolving those alarms 
That oft had roused and rushed him on to arms, 
That through long seventy years, would scarce allow 
Seven years of peace, to calm his aged brow." 
This poem appeared in both his editions, and had the following 
note attached to it : — " As the author formerly proposed to pub- 
lish this poem by itself, he only inserts part of it here as a speci- 
men of the whole, which he hopes, in a short time, to present to 
the public." The whole was never published. At what time, 
or in what manner, he proposed to publish this poem, does not 
appear ; but we think it was announced in a prospectus which he 
had issued for a cheap weekly periodical, which he intended to 
edit himself, but although he had subscribers' names to the num- 
ber of 750, the first number never appeared, as the printer and 
he could not come to any agreement. He also intended giving 
in that work, about 300 epitaphs, which he had gathered when 
he was pedlar. We have never been so fortunate as to see a copy 
of this prospectus, but we are informed that the work was to have 
been entitled " The Paisley Repository." A work of the same 
name appeared in Paisley, in 1810, done in a similar manner to 
the one Wilson purposed publishing, and has now become ex- 
tremely scarce. 

A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE.— Page 140. 
This is the only piece Wilson has in blank verse, and certainly 
he cannot be considered to be at home in this style of poetry. It 
is not ascertained whether he is himself the frighted pedlar of this 
poem or not ; but we think it relates to some other pedlar of his 
acquaintance, and is perhaps true, for the incident is highly pro- 
bable. Wilson was often heard to say that he had no belief in 
supernatural personages ; and he was known to be far from having 
the least tinge of that superstition so prevalent in Scotland in his 
life-time. However, he several times owned that he had been twice 
frightened, and his firmness a little shaken. One time, at night, 
he passed Arkleston wood, hurrying home to witness the death of 
one of his father's family. The cause of this fright we are un- 
able to tell ; but the second may be told in the following manner : 
— " Wilson was residing at Queensferry at the time, and had, one 

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NOTES TO THE POEMS. 321 

fine clear night, convoyed a woman to her home, on the banks of 
the Forth, and was retracing his steps, when, at a stile he had 
crossed in going, he observed an old man, whose " locks were lyart 
and grey," sitting on a stone, glowering earnestly, as it seemed, 
at something in the distance. Wilson remarked that it was a 
fine evening, but received no answer ; he spoke again — still no 
reply, nor even the slightest movement to indicate that he was 
conscious of the presence of Wilson ; but still appeared, as before, 
gazing intensely, as if he endeavoured to penetrate the gloom 
spread before his eyes. The third attempt was made to arrest 
the attention of the old man, his silent companion, but still no 
reply. This was strange — who was he ? — How came he there ? 
None had been observed to pass on his way thither, nor was there 
any bush or knoll which could have afforded a hiding place ; or 
how could this old man, aye silent ! aye silent ! have reached this 
lonely spot? He could not have walked as far as even the dis- 
tance to the nearest human habitation ; yet there he was, mo- 
tionless and glowering. What was he ? These and similar re- 
flections rushed through Wilson's mind ; and becoming more and 
more horrifying by his imagination, he felt a kind of suffocation 
creeping on him, and took to his heels, and never ceased run- 
ning until he reached home. Wilson could never account for the 
presence of that lone old man in such a mysterious situation ; but 
always said that although he was not a believer in supernatural 
beings, he was that night very much frightened." 

WATTY AXD MEG.— Page 149. 

The scenery and original characters of this inimitable production 
have often been disputed. Lochwinnoch throws out claims for 
them ; and the Seedhills are indignant that that village, — because 
Wilson resided there, forsooth, — should dare to rob them of what 
they consider their exclusive property and honour. Moreover, 
we have heard of other two claims, backed by great authority, 
'"the memory of the oldest inhabitant ;" but of the last, with all 
due respect to such authority, we beg leave not to notice, but will 
only give the two former rival claimants — viz., Wilson's favour- 
ite place of residence, and his birth-place, accounts, — leaving the 
public to judge between them. The first, therefore, is the Loch- 
winnoch version, which appeared in the "Paisley Magazine," in 
182S, in the following manner : — 

" Wilson's admirable ' Watty and Meg' was founded on a well 
remembered scene from his rural and peaceful life at this inter- 
esting village. ' Mungo Blue' was really notorious in village 
scandal. James Orr, called ' Smithie,' from his small property. 
t 4 






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322 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 

He had a joyous, but a short life. He went through his subject 
by drinking and other debaucheries. He kept a elachan change- 
house at Lochwinnoch. His house was frequented by a Cyprean 
bevy> issuing from their bower at the braiks. Wilson alludes to 
them in his poem, as — 

' Ye'll sit wi' your limmers round you.' 

Smithie's house was situated at the kirk stile, and the road to 
the east end goes round the gable of that house, as — 
' Hame at length, she turned the gable, 
Wi' a face as white's a clout.' 
In the same east end was the wretched domicile of Watthie Ma- 
thie and Meg Love, the hero and heroine of this graphic poem. 
The truth and justness of the picture and prototype is very ma- 
nifest by the whole poem. The flyting of Meg is the same, and 
true in character to the life of Peggy Love." 

This is all very plausible, beside no other account ; but, when 
contrasted with the following one from the Seedhills folk, its truth 
seems doubtful : — 

" The original characters so finely pourtrayed in ' Watty and 
Meg,' were acquaintances and neighbours of Wilson, all residing in 
his birth-place, the Seedhills of Paisley ; and he, in the portrait 
of ' Mungo Blue,' delineates a William Mitchell, who at that time 
kept the principal change-house in the Seedhills. This house, the 
one in which the change-house scene, so graphically described in 
the poem, took place, is pointed out as the dwelling-house attach- 
ed to the corn-mill. It was common in that place, as is in all 
clachans, for the folk to distinguish one another by nicknames, 
and he never received any other name than the one in the poem. 
He was the father of the young man of the same name, to 
whom Wilson addresses some epistles ; and his wife's maiden 
name was the same as in the poem, ' Bessy Miller.' ' Dryster 
Jock,' John Campbell — was a frequenter of the club held in 
'Mungo Blue's,' and was employed, as his name indicates, in the 
corn-mill at Seedhills. ' Pate Tamson ' was, by real name, 
John Thompson, and superintended a large tan-work, which is 
hi the Seedhills, and still carried on ; and of course this accounts 
for the line, 

" Jock was selling Pate some tallow." 
The hero and heroine were very intimate with Wilson. Meg, 
although somewhat of a shrew, possessed some good qualities, some 
of which we are happy to record, as being very careful and in- 
dustrious ; and one anecdote is related of her worth, which re- 
deems her not a little. She had one time amassed, unknown to 



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NOTES TO THE POEMS. 323 

her husband, a small sum of money, her economical savings, and 
as she was afraid of Watty getting it, she, for a place of security, 
lifted up a deal of her floor, and hid her secret wealth, in bank 
notes, under it. One day she required to settle the rent, and 
happy, ran to her savings' bank, and was astounded and horrified 
to find her ricbes a mass of rotten paper, crumbling into dust 
beneath her fingers. The soaking of water between the boards, 
when she gave them the weekly allowance of scrubbing, had 
completely destroyed them. She ran to the bank, and was re- 
fused gold in exchange ; but Meg had recourse to her tongue, 
and called day after day, until, by that forcible implement, she 
received full value. The hero of this noble poem, Walter Craw- 
ford, was rather more dissipated than he is represented ; and in 
his debaucheries he was on his part, sadly annoyed by Meg, be- 
seeching him out of his ' howfs.' He frequented the ' free-tables,' 
which the recruiting parties of soldiers, who sometimes visited 
the town, opened to entrap the simple folks ; and it was at one 
of these places that he borrowed the ' token,' which glittered on 
his ' bonnet cheek,' mentioned in the last scene, so feelingly and 
touchingly. This Walter Crawford actually had had recourse 
to this 'ruse,' and before Wilson wrote his poem, in which he so 
beautifully describes the same incident. And it is a fact, that 
Meg, shortly after the poem appeared, said to her husband, 
'D'ye ken what lang Sandy Wilson, the poet, has done? — He 
has poemed us.' " 

This incident was probably the foundation of Wilson's fine 
poem ; but seeing that it is now half a century since ' Watty 
and Meg' appeared, it is very difficult to point out the real cha- 
racters he so well describes. Although he does describe scenes 
which really happened, yet we are inclined to think that he had 
no certain persons in view, when he wrote this masterly sketch 
of beings moving, and living, in an humble sphere of life. He 
needed no particular couple to set as models for his faithful por- 
traits, or his unequalled sketch of domestic life. The characters 
of " Watty and Meg" are too broad and universal to be confined 
to two particular individuals. They are the likenesses of hun- 
dreds ; and drunken husbands, and scolding wives are many 
and to be found everywhere. Who could not point out a " Watty ' 
and a " Meg" in his own neighbourhood ?— and it matters not 
whether the author describes real personages, or gave to "airy 
nothing a local habitation and a name ;" the high excellence of 
the poem is all that need be cared about ; for in the words of the 
great poet now quoted — 

" Not marble, or the gilded monuments 
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme !" 
t5 



<§>= 



324 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 

EPISTLE TO MR. CHARLES ORR.— Page 169. 

This gentleman is still alive (1844), and, we believe, following 
his profession of teacher of writing. He is a native of Paisley, 
and became acquainted with Wilson when he resided in Philadel- 
phia, at the time he received this mark of esteem from his gifted 
friend, the poet-naturalist. 

THE SOLITARY TUTOR.— Page 181. 

It must be obvious to every one acquainted with the life of 
W ilson, that he is himself the hero of this most pleasing of his 
poems. It is replete with beautiful sentiment, fine descriptive 
passages, and is, in whole, a short poetical epitome of his own 
history. It was written while he filled the humble situation of 
village schoolmaster, and will stand in the same affinity to him 
as the " Cotter's Saturday Night" does to Burns. 

THE FORESTERS.— Page 208. 
This long descriptive poem, the history of which has been given 
in the memoir, possesses great merit ; and from it might be se- 
lected many beautiful passages, particularly descriptive of forest 
scenery — scarcely able to be equalled by any parallel ; but these 
we leave the reader to find, as our limits forbid giving any notice 
to any particular part, except the following exquisite 

^poatrop*)* to hospitality 

" Blest hospitality ! the poor man's pride, 

The stranger's guardian, comforter, and guide ; 

Whose cheering voice and sympathetic eye, 

Even angels honour as they hover nigh ; 

Confined, in mercy, to our wandering race — 

To no one country, people, age, or place ; 

But for the homeless and the exiled lives, 

And smiles the sweeter still the more she gives. 

Oh ! if on earth one spot I e'er can claim, 

One humble dwelling, even without a name, 

Do thou, blest spirit, be my partner there, 

With sons of woe our little all to share ; 

Beside our fire the pilgrim's looks to see, 

That swim in moisture as he thinks on thee ; 

To hear his tales of wild woods wandering through, 

His ardent blessing, as he bids adieu. 

Then let the selfish hug their gold divine ; 

Ten thousand dearer^pleasures shall be mine." 



© 



I 



NOTES TO THE POEMS. 325 

HYMN 1.— Page 285. 
This devotional little piece, and the six following it, were 
written by the author, for a volume entitled " The Psalm-singer's 
Assistant," by Robert Gilmour, teacher of music, Paisley, and 
published in that work in the year 1791. Wilson had been re- 
quested by his friend, the late Mr. Thomas Crichton, to write 
something for the work previous to its publication, and in com- 
liance he shortly afterwards presented these hymns. 

COXNELL AND FLORA.— Page 293. 
This pretty song is to the author's songs what " Watty and 
Meg" is to his poems — the most popular and successful. It has 
long since been a universal favourite, and though found in almost 
every collection of songs, is comparatively unknown to be the 
composition of Wilson. The beauty of this little gem makes one 
wisn that he had written others of the same kind, and more closely 
indentified himself with the national songs of Scotland, like the 
" Sweet singer of Paisley," his amiable townsman, Tannahill. 

HOGMEXAE.-P^e 293. 
The scene of this genuine humorous Scottish song is laid in 
the Seedhills. " Mine host," Mitchell, father to William Mit- 
chell, to whom Wilson writes so many epistles, kept the clachan 
change-house, the resort of " Pate Tamson," and " Jock Jabos," 
and w T here the change-house scene took plaee of " Watty and 
Meg," in which poem he is celebrated under the name of " Mungo 
Blue." The house in which he lived, and where 

" Watty, glad to see Jock Jabos, 

And sae mony neighbours roun', 
Kicked frae his shoon the snawba's, 

Syne ayont the fire sat down," 

is in the Seedhills, and is the one where the pump well, so cele- 
brated for its peculiar kind of water, stands. 

THE GROUP.— Page 296. 
In this capital song Wilson describes the peculiarities of his 
friends in masterly sketches, and not even forgetting himself. 
His own portrait, however, must be considered a little heightened, 
for he was far from being a lover of the convivial circle ; and 
although he sings so well in praise of liquor, yet he was never 
known to have indulged himself with such an inspirer, like, 
alas ! too many of our poets. 

U 



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326 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 

AUCIITERTOOL.— Page 302. 
This rough, but truly graphic song, a youthful production 
of Wilson, was first published in his earliest edition, 1790, and 
seems to narrate an actual occurrence, which happened to him- 
self when wandering over his native country in the character of 
a pedlar. A little obscure village in Fifeshire. 

JEFFERSON AND LIBERTY.— Page 304. 
This patriotic song made its first appearance in an American 
newspaper, and was dated Milestown, January 28th, 1834, and 
signed " A. W." 

MATILDA— A SONG.— Page 307. 
One of Wilson's contributions to " The Bee," in which it ap- 
peared, volume 2, under the title of " Absence, an Ode," dated 
Paisley, January 9th, 1791, and signed " A. W — n." 



A FEW FACTS REGARDING WILSON'S EARLY LIFE, 

PUBLISHED IN THE "PAISLEY MAGAZINE." 

Our reasons for doubting, in some of our notes, the veracity of 
all the statements which appear in the article entitled " Some 
incidents in the life of Alexander Wilson, collected in the parish 
of Lochwinnoch," at page 582 of the above-named work, may be 
here briefly stated. 

The article commences by mentioning, that the poet's father 
was a resident at the tower of Auchinbathie, and then says, that 
" Sannie, his son, lived with him in the tower of Auchinbathie 
for some time. He was feed as a herd callan to Mr. Stevenson 
of the Threepwood; but the future poet was a very careless herd, 
letting the kye transgress into the corn, being very often busied 
with some book." The truth of this portion of the article is 
completely overthrown, by the fact, that Wilson's father did 
not leave Paisley to live at Auchinbathie, till sometime after his 
son, then aged thirteen, wa.s bound an apprentice to the weaving 
trade. His indenture distinctly states, that his father was at 
that time a weaver, residing in the Seedhills of Paisley ; and 
the duration of his apprenticeship being three years, Wilson 
could not have been living with his father at Auchinbathie, and 
"feed as a herd callan," till the expiration of that time ; and all 
his biographers are certain of his life after that period, therefore 
he never was employed as a "herd callan." 



® 



-(g) 



NOTES TO THE POEI£S. 327 

The. writer of this same article is not content with making him 
a "herd," but he even makes young " Sannie" — "pipe it right 
merrily ;"" to be in keeping, no doubt, with the common idea that 
herds, those little tatterdemallians, who sit from " morn till dewy 
eve," chittering with cold on some hill side, watching cattle — are 
extremely happy, and sing like those who trod the far-famed 
Arcadian plains. Here is the soag,"with its introductory note, 
as given in the Magazine : — 

" The late Garthland one day while riding through Castiesem- 
ple woods, heard Paul Jock, his herd, sing this rude attempt at 
a song. He enquired concerning the author of it. Jock an- 
swered, 'the Auchinbathie smuggler's callan made it/ The 
laird sent for the youth from Auchinbathie. He made him sing 
it, and gave him a guinea." This noted song is the following, as 
fully as it can be given ; 

Castlesemple stands sae sweet, 

The parks around are bonnie, O ; 
The ewes and lambs ye'll hear them bleat. 

And the herd's name is Johnnie, O. 

Ye'll see them spread alang the fields, 

The mavis to them chanting, O ; 
At night they ha'e the brawest bieids, 

In shaws amang the planting, O. 

Pan wi' his reed they dinna heed, 

But the black-bird and the linnet, O. 
They strack their notes * * * 

They excel the harp or spinnet, O. 

The lambs they dance, the deers they prance, 

Sae spreelie about the temple, O ; 
The swards they glance like ony lance, 

At bonnie Castlesemple, O. 

The echo ga.es round by the lock, 

By the hills to Mr. Barclay, O ; 
Through ilka glen, and shaw, and park, 

Sae sprushlie rides Tam Sparkly, O." 

This is quite in the usual style of the anecdote mongers in 
incidents in the lives of celebrated men. To those hunters of 
wonders, it is sufficient to them to get any plausible piece of in- 
formation, without troubling themselves about the truth of the 
matter, and give it to the world with all the pomp of affected 
and antiquated language, and antiquarian erudition. Had the 



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328 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 

author of this article in the "Paisley Magazine," been the least 
acquainted with the literature of the part of the country of which 
he treats, he would have seen at every book-stall, a coarse volume 
of 304 pages, entitled "Poems and Songs, by Alexander Tait, 
[Paisley] printed for, and sold by the author only, 1790;" and 
had he deigned to look into this volume, he would have found, 
at page 1 83, this identical song, in full blossom, and not in frag- 
ments, as he has given it, marked to the tune of " Corn riggs are 
bonny." The song is in Mr. Tait's happiest style, and what we 
have given of it, presents a good specimen of his great power in 
verse-making : and we are happy to pluck it from Wilson's pieces, 
and give it to its own author, with undisputed claims ; thus, as 
it were, fulfilling the old adage, of "putting the saddle on the 
right horse." 

But in doing justice to Mr. Tait's fame, we are forgetting 
the writer of the aforesaid article in the "Paisley Magazine." 
We ought certainly to expect that one who displays so much re- 
search in the "parish of Lochwinnoch," for "incidents in the 
life of Wilson," would have read at least one memoir of our poet; 
but it is otherwise, and we are mistaken to suppose so, for we 
find him (the writer of that article) this precious mass of tradesly 
lore — saying, that " Watty and Meg" was written in durance 
vile — in the tolbooth." Now, this same acute writer, in another 
article about Wilson, in the same work, page 632, says that Wil- 
son was not incarcerated till February, 1793, which is quite true; 
and yet the original copy of " Watty and Meg" bears on its title 
page the date of 1792! This is too glaring an anachronism to 
remain unnoticed. 

We have done with this subject ; and it is hoped, that these few 
uncontradictable facts, will suffice for our doubting the authen- 
ticity of all that is said about Wilson, in page 582 of the "Paisley 
Magazine." 

COPY OF THE ORIGINAL INDENTURE. 

It is Contracted, Agreed, and finally Ended betwixt the partys 
following, viz — William Duncan, weaver in Seedhills, of Paisley, 
on the one part, and Alexander Wilson, son of Alexander Wil- 
son, weaver in Seedhills, of Paisley, on the other part, in manner 
following. — That is to say, the said Alexander Wilson, jun r , with 
the special advice & consent of his said father, hereby Becomes 
Bound Apprentice & servant to the said William Duncan in his 
art & calling of a weaver ; and that for the space of three years, 
compleat from his Entry thereto, which is hereby Declared to 
commence at the date hereof, during which space the said Ap- 

® — 



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NOTES TO THE POEMS. 329 

prentice as principal, and the said Alexr r Wilson, his said father, 
As Cautioner with & for him, Bind & oblige them jointly and 
severally. That he, the said Alex r Wilson, Jun r , shall faith- 
fully & honestly serve & abide with his said master, in his said 
trade, & shall net absent or desert his said service without leave 
asked & given, otherwise he shall pay half a merk scots for each 
day he so absents or deserts his said service, or serve two days 
for one in the master's option, and which absent days shall be 
ascertained by the master's honest word, or oath if required, or 
signed Accot. in case of death, and that instead of all other proof; 
And that he shall duely Attend his said service & obey his said 
master in all Lawfull commands, & do every thing in his power 
for his said master's Interest and Benefite. For which causes, & 
on the other part, the said William Duncan, master, as principal, 
and John Finlayson, weaver in Seedhills, of Paisley, as Cautioner, 
with & for him Bind & oblige them jointly & severally — That he, 
the said William Duncan, Shall faithfully Teach & instruct his 
said Apprentice in his said trade of a weaver, and shall do every 
thing in his power to make him skilled & qualifyed therein, so 
far as his own Judgement & the Apprentice's capacity will admit 
off; and for that end shall keep the Apprentice at daily work, 
and furnish him with all necessary Instruments of trade use and 
wont ; and shall further furnish & entertain the said Apprentice 
in Bed, Board, washing and Cloathing Suitable to his Station, 
during the space of this Indenture ; and Lastly, Both partys 
Bind & oblige them to perform their respective parts of the pre- 
messes, under the penalty of five pounds Sterling, to be paid by 
the party failing to the other party, all over performance Con- 
senting to the Registration hereof in the Books of Council & 
Session, or any other Judges' Books competent. — That Letters 
of horning on six days' Charge, & all other execution necessary 
may pass hereon & Constitute. Profs $ Law Witness. 

whereof we subscribe these presents (wrote upon stamped paper 
by James Gibson, writer in Paisley), at Paisley, the thirty-first 
day of July, iidcc & seventy-nine years, Before these Witnesses, 
the said James Gibson & Alex 1- Weir, merchant in Paisley. 
ALEXR. WEIR, Witness. 
JAMES GIBSON, Witness. 

WILLIAM DUNCAN. 

ALEXANDER WILSON, Junior. 

ALEXR. WILSON. 

JOHN FINLAYSON. 



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330 



NOTES TO THE POEM3. 



Be't kent to a' the warld in rhime, 
That wi' right meikle wark an' toil, 

For three lang years I've ser't my time, 
Whiles feasted wi' the hazel oil. 

August, 1782. 

[The above lines are on the original indenture, in the same 
part as they are here seen, and supposed to have been written by 
Wilson shortly after the conclusion of his apprenticeship. The 
handwriting is evidently that of one little accustomed to use the 
pen, and in appearance is far from being like the bold and beauti- 
ful handwriting of his latter days, a specimen of which — written 
when he was deeply immersed in his great undertaking — is pre- 
sented to the reader at the bottom of his portrait.] 



©- 



@ — -@ 



EXSSSLLAHEOIIJS 



PM8E WMTIHfiSo 



© 



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flUimUmtow ^rose 2UKrittng& 



JOURNAL. 

[Before the reader enter upon the following sheets, I think it 
necessary to inform him, that, signifying, some time ago, to an 
intimate friend, an intention I had of traversing the eastern parts 
of Scotland, he entreated me to keep a Journal, which, by way of 
amusement, and to comply with his request, I did, by committing 
to paper, each night, the most remarkable occurrences of the day, 
interspersed with such descriptions of the places, through which 
I passed, as the shortness of my stay would allow . On my return, 
a number of acquaintances having examined the scroll, expressed 
their approbation of it, and requested me to publish it along with 
the poetical pieces. With their solicitation I have ventured to 
comply, in hopes that the perusal of it may be a relaxation to the 
reader ; and, while the novelty of the incidents entertain, the truth 
of them may be perhaps not uninstructive. — A. W.] 

Edinburgh, Sept. 17, 1789. 

As youth is the most favourable time to establish a 
man's good fortune in the world ; and as his success 
in life depends, in a great measure, on his prudent 
endeavours and unwearied perseverance, I have re- 
solved to make one bold push for the united interests 
of Pack and Poems. Nor can any one justly blame 
me for it, since experience has now convinced me, 
that the merit I am possessed of (which is certainly 
considerable) might lie for ever buried in obscurity, 
without such an attempt. I have therefore fitted up 
a proper budget, consisting of silks, muslins, prints, 
&c, &c, for the accommodation of those good people 
who may prove my customers — a sufficient quantity 
of proposals for my poetical friends ; and to prevent 
those tedious harangues, which otherwise I would be 



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334 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

obliged to deliver at every threshold, I have accord- 
ing to the custom of the more polite pedlars, com- 
mitted the contents of my pack to a hand-bill,, 
though in a style somewhat remote from any I have 
yet seen. 

ADVERTISEMENT EXTRAORDINARY. 

Fair ladies, I pray for one moment to stay, 

Until, with submission, I tell you, 
"What muslins so curious, for uses so various, 

A poet has here brought to sell you. 

Here's handkerchiefs charming, book-muslin like ermine, 

Brocaded, striped, corded, and checked ; 
Sweet Venus, they say, on Cupid's birth-day, 

In British-made muslins was decked. 

If these can't content ye, here's muslins in plenty, 

From one shilling up to a dozen, 
That Juno might wear, and more beauteous appear, 

When she means the old Thunderer to cozen. 

Here are fine jacconets, of numberless sets, 

With spotted and sprigged festoons ; 
And lovely tambours, with elegant flow'rs, 

For bonnets, cloaks, aprons, or gowns. 

Now, ye fair, if you choose any piece to peruse, 

With pleasure I'll instantly show it ; 
If the pedlar should fail to be favoured with sale, 

Then I hope you'll encourage the poet. 

Sept. 18. — Departed from Edinburgh, designing 
to cross over to Fifeshire ; changed my resolutions, 
and proceeded forward to Musselburgh, beneath a 
most oppressive load. Arrived at this place late in 
the evening. — Musselburgh (so called from the vast 
quantities of mussels that are found along the shore) 
is a small, though a neat town, six miles east from 
Edinburgh, stretching along the frith of Forth, 
which, at this place, may be ten or twelve miles 
broad ; the streets are wide and well paved ; its in- 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 335 

habitants numerous, a great many of whom are 
butchers, which appears by the numberless carcases 
of sheep, calves, cows, &c, that are to be seen 
suspended in rows at almost every door. Edinburgh 
is their market, to which, every morning, their stores 
are conveyed. This day I saw several troops of dra- 
goons reviewed, which made a formidable appearance, 
on an extensive level green, that spreads along the 
shore, where the game of golph is much practised by 
parties of gentlemen ; and is, in my opinion, a more 
healthy than entertaining amusement. 

Sept. 19. — I have this day collected a few sub- 
scriptions. Encountered, in my excursions through 
the town, with a son of the muses, who, on looking 
over the proposals and specimen, snarled at some 
expression that displeased him. I, in defence men- 
tioned a similar phrase which Thomson had used. 
"Aye, aye," said he "Thomson's was poetry, but 
this is none ;" and then, after a little meditation and 
muttering to himself, he altered the line, which I, to 
humour him, confessed to be a beautiful amendment. 
Pleased with this, he set down his own name, and, 
smiling, said, "D — n me! I'll procure some sub- 
scribers for you." In the course of our conversation, 
he told me that he had finished several pieces : among 
the rest, two farces, and an English translation of the 
* Gentle Shepherd.' This day an old lady, whom I had 
importuned in vain to add to the list of subscribers, 
gave me a solemn advice, that as I was but a young 
author, and unacquainted with the world, not to 
spend the money I might make, on women and wine. 
" I am exceedingly obliged to you Madam," returned 
I, "for the advice you are pleased to give me; but 
if I meet with no better encouragement from the 
world than I have received from your ladyship, I 
believe your good counsel will be superfluous." 

Another gentleman's mansion I was approaching 



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336 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

when the owner appeared, whom I saluted, present- 
ing him the proposals. He stared at the paper some 
moments, as if it had been a monster ; then, with a 
contemptuous sneer, exclaimed, " O Ch — st ! I'll 
have nothing to do with it — some d — ned stuff or 
other." I met also with a school-master, who seemed 
to be a son of Bacchus, Learning and Snuff; for after 
several good observations on the specimen, and an 
enormous draught of snuff, he declared he would 
most certainly take a copy. "But, remember," says 
he, ' * by Jupiter, we will offer up one half of its price 
at the shrine of Bacchus." 

Sept. 21 Fisher-row. This place is separated 

from Musselburgh only by a river, over which is a 
wooden bridge, three feet broad, and near one hun- 
dred and fifty long; the breadth of the channel being 
occasioned by the flowing of the sea. The inhabi- 
tants of this place are mostly fishers, from whom 
the town takes its name. While I staid here, a very 
melancholy accident happened at a place called 
Roslin, some miles up the river. A newly married 
couple had been on a visit to a friend's house, where 
they staid till the night was far advanced. In coming 
home they had the river to cross, over which went 
a feeble wooden bridge, railed only at one side. The 
night being dark and stormy, the bridge but narrow, 
and the river swelled by the rains, her husband 
desired her to hold by his coat while he went before, 
which she accordingly attempted to do ; but, missing 
her step, plunged headlong into the current. The 
husband, imagining that he did not feel her behind 
him, and unable to hear for the noise which the wind 
made among the trees, turned quickly about, and 
ran to the other end of the bridge, thinking she had 
staid behind ; but, not finding her there, he called 
her by name, as loud and as long as he could, 
" Peggy! Peggy !" but, alas ! Peggy was gone, never 



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more to return, and the unhappy man went home in 
a case not to be described ; was seized with a fever, 
which, in a short time, rendered him delirious. Next 
day the corpse of this unfortunate young woman was 
found near Fisher-row harbour, where the river 
discharges itself into the sea, stripped of every thing 
of value. The body was opened by the surgeons, 
when it was found that she was six months advanced 
in her pregnancy. The child and its mother I saw 
both decently interred by her friends next day. 

While I was traversing from house to house, I was 
told, by almost every body, of a tailor, a great Poet, 
who, as the women and fishers informed me, could 
make a Poem of any thing. Curious to see this 
prodigy of wit, I sought out his hut. and found it. 
On my entrance, I perceived a little shrunk creature, 
perched, cross-legged, on a table, making his head 
and hand keep time with one another. I boldly 
entered, and asked what he would buy. " Nothing," 
says he. "Have you any strong gray thread?" I 
told him I was sorry that I had none. " Any needles 
or thimbles ?" " I am just out of them at present." 
"Then," replied he, "you have nothing for me." 
" No ! perhaps I may have something to suit you for 
all that." " No, no," returned he, and fell a whist- 
ling. Here a paused ensued. At length, said I, 
" you are certainly acquainted with the rules of com- 
position, friend, or you would not whistle that tune 
sojustly." " Composition !" said he. "Doyouknow 
what composition is ?" " Not I ; but I have heard 
poets and fiddlers, when speaking of a song, or 
tune, call it composition." " You are not far wrong," 
continued he." "Did you ever read any poetry ?" 
"Yes, I have read the Wife of Beith, and ballads, and 
the Psalms, and many others." " And do you un- 
derstand them?" "Excellently," replied I, "and 
I delighted to read metre." "Lay down your pack 
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for a moment," then says he, nimbly sliding from the 
table, " I'll show you something curious. You'll per- 
haps not have heard of me, but I am a bit of a poet ; 
I make verses myself sometimes. " Hereupon pulling 
out the drawer of an old chest, and rustling some time 
among a parcel of papers, he presented me with a 
printed piece, entitled — King Crispianus' March 
through Fisher-row, — which I read aloud with seem- 
ing rapture ; though, at the same time, I could 
scarce suppress a continued succession of yawnings, 
while the exulting author stared steadfastly in my 
face the whole time ; and seeing me admire the first 
so much, tortured me with a second, and a third, 
all equally sublime. I now began to interrogate him 
as to his knowledge of poetry, and found him en- 
tirely ignorant of every thing save rhyme. Happen- 
ing to ask him if ever he had read any of Pope or 
Milton's pieces, he told me he never had, for he did 
not understand one word of Latin. I showed him my 
proposals, asked him to subscribe, and said I knew 
the author. He read part of them with excessive 
laughter, declared that the author was certainly a 
learned fellow, and that he would cheerfully sub- 
scribe, but his wife was such a devil, that if she knew 
of him doing any thing without her approbation, 
there would be no peace in the house for months to 
come : " And by the bye," says he, " we are most 
dismally poor. I assure you there has been nothing 
with us this many a day, but potatoes and herring." 
I told him that poverty was the characteristic of a 
poet. " You are right," says he, " and for that very 
reason I am proud of being poor." I left this votary 
of rhyme, and went through the rest of the town, 
meeting with no other adventure worthy of being 
remembered. 

Sept. 22. — Left this place, and proceeded eastward 
about three miles, to Preston-pans. This town is 



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larger but not so regular as the last, neither are the 
houses so good, but rather ruinous ; the streets on 
account of the numerous salt-pans, black and nar- 
row, and the buildings, if so they may be called, 
dismally exhibiting the effects of time's all-devouring 
jaws, tottering on the brink of dissolution, and 
threatening every gale of wind to be the eternal re- 
sidences of their possessors. About a mile to the 
southward of this, the battle of Preston-pans was 
fought, where the gallant Colonel Gardiner fell, 
whose house stands near the place of action. Leav- 
ing this place, with little success, I pursued my 
way eastward, passing a small village on the shore, 
called Cockenzie, composed chiefly of salt-pans, and 
the workmen's huts. Five miles farther east, I 
came to another village called Aberlady. Here I 
proposed to spend the night and moralize on the toils 
and disappointments of the day. 

Sept. 23. — Rose by day-break, and proceeded on 
my pilgrimage. The country for about three miles 
to the east of this, along the shore, is a sandy level, 
interspersed with little hillocks, and inhabited by 
innumerable swarms of rabbits, under the domi- 
nion of an old weaver, whose sole prerogative and 
occupation it is, in the winter season, to apprehend, 
execute, and dispose of them to the best advantage. 

Entered about nine o'clock the town of North- 
Berwick, a sea-port, situated at the extremity of a 
long sandy bay. About half a mile south from this, 
a high hill rises, named North-Berwick-Law, and is 
seen at a vast distance, both by sea and land. 

With much difficulty I reached its top, on which 
is erected the two jaw-bones of a whale, and over 
them a pendant streams in the wind. The view 
from this is really beautiful. The wide German 
ocean spreading in the east far as the eye can reach. 
The county of Fife and wild enormous ranges of 

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340 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WORKS. 

mountains to the north ; while the frith of Forth 
stretching to the west, lies spotted with rocks, ships, 
and small islands. After satisfying my curiosity 
descend to North-Berwick, where I intend to repose 
for this night. 

Sept. 24. — Left; this place, and continued east- 
wards, passing along a very steep and rocky shore, 
till I came to a place called Comly-bay, where a few 
solitary fishermen live. At the eastern extremity 
of this bay the shore rises so high that I was forced 
to take to hands and feet, and climb for a considerable 
way, till I reached the summit of it. Here I had a 
near and an agreeable view of the Bass, a large rock, 
almost circular, rising out of the sea to the dreadful 
height of 600 feet, and distant from the shore about 
a mile, giving the spectator an awful idea of its 
Almighty Founder, who weigheth the mountains in 
scales, and the hills in a balance, who by one word 
raised into existence this vast universe, with all 
these unwieldy rocks ; and who will, when his al- 
mighty goodness shall think fit, with one word, 
command them to their primitive nothing. The 
ruins of an old castle are still to be seen on its south 
side, which was formerly used as a place of confine- 
ment to many of the persecuted presbyterians. 
Prodigious numbers of solan geese build among the 
cliffs of the rock : the method used to catch their 
young is somewhat dangerous. As soon as it is 
perceived that the young are arrived at their proper 
bigness, which they do ere capable of flying (this 
happens generally about the middle of July), then 
the climber has a rope fixed round his middle with 
a feather pillow bound on his breast, to prevent 
sharp pointed crags from wounding him in his 
ascent or descent. Being thus secured, he is let 
down over the verge of the rock, till he comes to the 
nests of the geese, while flying and screaming around 



MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WORKS. 341 

him in vast multitudes, and of nameless kinds, de- 
ploring the loss of their unfortunate young. A 
considerable number of boats are stationed below, 
ready to receive the fowls, as soon as he drives them 
from their holes. This is easily effected ; the birds 
unable to support themselves, and falling from such 
a height, are so stunned, that, before they can re- 
cover themselves, they are snatched from the sea 
and secured. This method they yearly repeat, send- 
ing those caught to Edinburgh, where they are 
generally sold at two shillings and two and six- 
pence each. The climber, who, at this season, re- 
sides constantly on the island, has a little hut built, 
where he sells liquor, bread, cheese, &c, for the ac- 
commodation of those sportsmen who visit the rock 
for the diversion of shooting. The shore all along 
here is exceedingly high and rugged, while a cease- 
less surf rolls impetuously among the precipitated 
fragments below. Proceeding a mile farther east, I 
came to the remains of an old fortification, known 
by the name of Tamtalian. It is built on the verge 
of a high shore overhanging the sea, nearly opposite 
to the Bass, and distant from it a long mile, com- 
posed of three towers, about sixty paces from each 
other, and joined by a strong high wall, all seemingly 
whole, except the west tower which hangs in ruins. 
I measured the wall, and found it in many places 
more than ten feet thick, and strongly cemented- 
The whole building is about six stories, quite in- 
accessible towards the sea, and seems to have been 
deeply trenched toward the land. This place and 
the Bass, are both the property of Sir Hugh Dal- 
rymple of Leucine, proprietor of a large estate in 
this country, of that name, and superior of the town 
of North Berwick. 

Having sufficiently examined this ancient struc- 
ture, I proceeded forwards, and night coming on, 

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arrived at a small village called Whitekirk, and 
obtained lodgings in a little ale-house. While I sat 
conversing with the landlord, he told me the follow- 
ing story that happened to a family in the neigh- 
bourhood, which, as it exhibits a remarkable occur- 
rence of Providence, I shall relate. About six months 
ago, the master of the house, who was by trade a 
fisher, fell sick, and continued in a lingering way 
until about three weeks ago, when his distemper 
growing worse, increased to that degree, that all 
hopes of recovery were gone. In these circumstances 
he prepared himself for his dissolution in a manner 
that became a Christian, and agreeable to the cha- 
racter he had all along been distinguished by when 
in health and vigour. Meantime his wife was preg- 
nant and drew near the time of her delivery, and it 
gave the poor man no small uneasiness to think that 
he should not see his last offspring ; and it was one 
of his fervent petitions to heaven, that he might be 
spared until that time. Some short time after this, he 
grew extremely ill, and all his relations were called 
in to take their last farewell. While they stood 
round his bed expecting his immediate departure, 
his wife was taken suddenly ill, and, in less than an 
hour was delivered of twins, which the dying man 
no sooner understood, than he made signs to them 
to send for the minister, who accordingly in a short 
time came. He then attempted to rise in the bed, 
but his strength was exhausted. Hereupon one of 
his daughters went up to the bed behind him, and 
supported his hands, until he held up both the chil- 
dren ; first one and then the other. Then kissing 
them both, delivered them over to their mother, and 
reclining his head softly on the pillow, expired. 

Sept. 23 Set forward on my way to Dunbar, 

seeing little by the way worthy of notice, only now 
and then two whale jaw-bones erected at the en- 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 343 

trance to some distinguished farm-houses, the thick 
ends fixed in the ground, and the two points meet- 
ing at top, forming a kind of arch, capable of letting 
the highest coach or loaded cart pass through ; being 
generally from sixteen to eighteen feet in height. 
Passed this day several elegant farm-houses, the po- 
liteness of whose inhabitants claims little of my 
praise ; who, taking them in general, are so lost to 
humanity and discretion, that when a poor pedlar 
approaches their sacred mansions, engages and van- 
quishes a surly tiger- like mastiff (who guards the 
door, and bears his master's hospitality in his coun- 
tenance), and even forces his way to the kitchen, he 
is no sooner in, than, as if they were afraid that he 
brought the pestilence along with him, he is huffed 
out, and the door clapt behind him. Such are the 
effects of pride and luxury : such the effects that 
wealth and independence produce in the dispositions 
of the illiterate and the uncultivated. On the other 
hand, the poor cottager welcomes you into his little 
hut, invites you to sit down, and even presses you 
to partake of his homely fare, seeming happy to have 
it in his power to be hospitable to a stranger. Met 
with nobody this day but had more books than they 
made a good use of. 

Sept. 24 This morning rose early to take a view 

of the town (Dunbar), which is pretty large; the 
main street broad, and running from north to south, 
contains the only buildings of any note. The pro- 
vost's house closes the view at the north end, fronted 
with a row of trees, making a very neat appearance. 
Several narrow lanes lead down to the shore, chiefly 
possessed by fishers. At the west end of the har- 
bour they have lately built a battery of stone, in the 
form of a half-moon, mounting seventeen twelve 
pounders. This is the effect of Paul Jones' appear- 
ance in the frith last war, who came so near this 
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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 



place with some of his ships, as to demolish some of 
the chimney tops, and put the inhabitants in a ter- 
rible consternation. They are also building a new 
pier from the battery, which will certainly be atten- 
ded with a vast expense, and even without affording 
general content. A little to the west of this are still 
to be seen the ruins of the castle of Dunbar, built 
on a rock that juts into the sea, hollowed with gloomy 
caves, through which, in a storm, the waves roar 
horribly; which, joined to the ruins above, forms a 
most dismal appearance. 

Sept. 25, — Having done some little business in 
this place, and there being no other towns to the 
east or south, for a considerable way, have bargained 
with the master of a sloop, with whom I intend to 
embark for Burntisland, in Eifeshire, a town about 
thirty miles from this, and almost opposite to Edin- 
burgh. 

Sept. 26. — Went on board early this morning for 
Burntisland, with a good gale astern, passed the 
Bass, and several other small islands, and landed 
at Burntisland, after a pleasant passage of six hours. 
Sept. 28. — Burntisland. In this place the lover 
of ruins would be highly entertained, when whole 
streets are to be seen in solitary desolation. They 
have an excellent harbour here, to which, in a hard 
gale of easterly wind, the shipping in Leith roads 
repair. Some time ago a thick silk manufactory 
was established here, and seemed for a while to 
prosper, but on account of some differences arising 
among the partners, has now dwindled to a name. 
About a mile to the westward of this is a petrifying 
spring, which I had the curiosity to visit ; the water 
is hard and well tasted ; and all along the shore, for 
the space of a quarter of a mile, are to be seen the 
produce of the spring : rocks hung frightfully tot- 
tering over one another, where the different courses 



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of the stream had been before. In some places I 
found the stone forming, resembling those pendicles 
of ice that hang by the house eaves. This is used 
as a watering-place by the ships of war lying in the 
roads, and other vessels outward bound. This town 
being nearly opposite to Leith, a passage-boat goes 
from this every day, save Sunday, and even then, if 
encouragement offers. The water is seven miles 
broad, and a single passenger pays sixpence. A 
pretty large sugar-work is also on foot here, seem- 
ingly to thrive. This evening, went down and took 
a view of a strange vessel, called the Experiment, 
launched from the sands of Leith, built on an en- 
tire new construction, and has been in this harbour 
these twelve months ; measuring about one hundred 
feet in length, being almost two distinct vessels 
under one deck, but with two keels, two rudders, 
and five masts, and seems to have been the mon- 
strous production of some mathematician's delirious 
pericranium. It was built at a vast expense, and 
without any visible intention or use, but that of an 
experiment. 

Sept. 29. — Went two miles along the shore, east- 
ward, to Kinghorn. On my way visited a famous 
spa well, whose waters are deservedly esteemed by 
people languishing under a consumption. The flow 
of water is but small, seeping out from a cleft rock, 
which rises above it thirty or forty feet. On spring 
tides the sea flows nearly up to the well, beside which 
is a convenient seat cut out from the rock, where 
you can sit and receive the water in a vessel from 
the spring, and near that a large cave enters the 
rocks, where you may be secured from the storm ; 
so that here is at once shelter for the traveller, drink 
for the thirsty, a seat for the weary, and health for 
the sick, all from the rough, but bounteous hand of 
nature. About half a mile to the westward of this, 



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346 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

on the shore, which hangs gloomily above the sea, 
is the place where Alexander III. was killed by a 
fall from his horse, while on a hunting party ; which 
place still retains the name of " The king's wud en'." 
Kinghorn is but a small place ; its inhabitants sub- 
sisting chiefly by the passage, which is the most 
frequented on the frith, a considerable number of 
boats still passing and repassing to and from the 
Petty-cur, a harbour about half a mile west from 
the town. In a large boat the passenger pays six- 
pence ; in a pinnace, which is most convenient, in a 
smooth sea, tenpence. The town is composed of an 
irregular assemblage of poor low, ruinous, tile-cov- 
ered huts ; but if miserable without, still more so 
within. Almost every house being so dark, black, 
and dirty, that I wrong them not to style each the 
cave of misery and desolation. The inhabitants are 
almost all boatmen, and their whole commerce being 
with strangers, whom perhaps they may never see 
again, makes them avaricious, and always on the 
catch. If a stranger comes to town at night, intend- 
ing to go over next morning, he is taken into a lodg- 
ing. One boatman comes in — sits down, promises 
to call you in the morning, assists you to circulate 
the liquor, and after a great deal of loquacity, de- 
parts. In a little another enters, and informs you 
that the fellow who is just now left you, goes not over 
at all ; but that he goes, and for a glass of gin he will 
awake you, and take you along with him. Willing 
to be up in time, you generously treat him. Ac- 
cording to promise, you are awakened on the morn- 
ing, and assured that you have time enough to take 
breakfast, in the middle of which hoarse roarings 
alarm you, that the boat is just going off. You start 
up, call for your bill, the landlord appears, charges 
you like a nobleman — there is no time for scrupling 
— you are hurried away by the boatman on the one 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 847 

hand, and genteelly extorted by the landlord on the 
other, who pockets his money, and bids you haste, 
lest you lose your passage ; and perhaps, after all, 
when you get on board, you are detained an hour 
or more by the sailors waiting for more passengers. 
Such, and a thousand more mean tricks, are prac- 
tised on the unsuspecting stranger, and all under 
a show of the most extreme kindness. "While here 
I inquired for Pattie Birnie, a the famous fiddler, and 
was told a great man3>- anecdotes of him, by some of 
the old people who remember to have seen him. I 
applied to a literary character in this town, with a 
subscription paper, but he told me he did not find him- 
self inclined to meddle with it, saying, I should apply 
my talents to prose-writing, for he doubted much if I 
would meet with great encouragement in the poetical 
branch, so many good poets having transmitted us 
pieces inimitable by succeeding ages. I told him if 
we never attempted to rival them, we made them 
seemingly inimitable indeed ; but when young ge- 
nius, fired with the love of that applause which for- 
mer poets had met with, strove to attract the ob- 
servation of the world, and soar above their progeni- 
tors, I should imagine they merited encouragement 
for having spirit enough to make the attempt. He 
said it was ambition to make such attempts, and to 
encourage ambition was not right ; and ere I could 
return an answer, he slipt to his room, while I came 
away, cursing his stupidity. To several others I 
have applied, but they know not what poetry is, so 
cannot, as they said, subscribe. Returned back to 
Burntisland after sunset. 

Sept. 30. — This morning a sloop foundered within 
a mile of the shore, in attempting to get into the 
harbour. The cries of her unhappy men alarmed 

a For a particular description of this carious original, see 
Ramsay's Poems. 

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the crew of a cutter lying at a small distance, who 
perceived two persons clinging by the mast. A boat 
was immediately sent off to their relief, but though 
she rowed several times round the wreck, could dis- 
cover no appearance of man or boy. Sudden indeed 
are the transitions from time to eternity, yet awful 
and important the change ! How happy, how un- 
speakably happy they, who are prepared for such a 
warning ! Who through the jaws of death are re- 
ceived into never-ceasing joy, and inconceivable 
delight. But, alas! how deplorable the situation 
of those, who by the brittle thread of life, hang over 
an eternal world of woe. To them death stares in 
ten thousand despairing forms — to them death is 
unutterable horror, and to them how precious would 
be one hour, or one moment. 

Oct. 1. — This being the day set apart for electing 
the magistrates of a neighbouring town, the whole 
council, consisting of a parcel of weavers, shoemak- 
ers, tailors, &c, assembled. After the election, they 
adjourned to a public house to dine, where the jolly 
god Bacchus, or his representative, aquavitse, raised 
such an uproar in their brains, that tables were le- 
velled, chairs broken, bowls dashed to pieces, and 
stoups and glasses flew through the room with such 
rapidity, as threatened destruction to whatever they 
encountered ; and one tailor, in particular, forgetting 
himself so much as to believe he was provost, began 
to exercise his authority in loud commands to silence, 
until he should address them. All his endeavours 
to obtain silence proving vain, he dealt the wand of 
justice around him with such mettle and imparti- 
ality, that, roused to vengeance, the whole assembly 
began, like the Philistines of old, to cudgelling one 
another. Mars swelled the horrid scene, while Dis- 
cord clapt her sooty wings over them. Broken shins, 
heads, and noses, brought many a one to the floor, 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 849 

where they weltered, if not among their own blood, 
among their own filth, till sleep arrested the weary 
warriors in many a drowsy attitude. 

Oct. 2. — I have this day, I believe, measured the 
height of an hundred stairs, and explored the recesses 
of twice that number of miserable habitations, and 
what have I gained by it ? only two shillings of 
worldly pelf, but an invaluable treasure of observa- 
tion. In this elegant dome, wrapt up in glittering 
silks, and stretched on the downy sofa, reclines the 
fair daughters of wealth and indolence. The ample 
mirror, flowery floor, and magnificent couch, their 
surrounding attendants, while suspended in his wiry 
habitation above, the shrill-piped canary warbles to 
enchanting echoes. Yfithin the confines of that 
smoky hovel, hung round with squadrons of his 
brother artists, the pale-faced weaver plies the re- 
sounding lay, or launches the melancholy, murmur- 
ing shuttle. Lifting this simple latch, and stooping 
for entrance to the miserable hut, there sits Poverty 
and ever-moaning Disease, clothed in dunghill rags, 
and ever shivering over the tireless chimney. As- 
cending this stair, the voice of joy bursts on my ear. 
The bridegroom and bride, surrounded by their jo- 
cund companions, circle the sparkling glass and hu- 
morous joke, or join in the raptures of the noisy 
dance, the squeaking fiddle breaking through the 
general uproar in sudden intervals, while the bound- 
ing floor groans beneath its unruly load. Leaving 
these happy mortals, and ushering into this silent 
mansion, a more solemn, a striking object presents 
itself to my view : the windows, the furniture, and 
every thing that could lend one cheerful thought, are 
hung in solemn white, and there, stretched pale and 
lifeless, lies the awful corpse ; while a few weeping 
friends sit black and solitary near the breathless 
clay. In this other place, the fearless sons of Bac- 



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350 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

chus extend their brazen throats in shouts like 
bursting thunder, to the praise of their gorgeous 
chief. Opening this door, the lonely matron ex- 
plores for consolation her Bible ; and in this house 
the wife brawls, the children shriek, and the poor 
husband bids me depart, lest his termagant's fury 
should vent itself on me. In short, such an incon- 
ceivable variety occurs to my observation in real 
life, that would, were they moralized upon, convey 
more maxims of wisdom, and give a juster know- 
ledge of mankind, than whole volumes of lives and 
adventures, that perhaps never had a being, except 
in the prolific brains of their fantastic authors. 

[The foregoing journal relates only to the collecting of subscribers . 
what follows is a short Narrative of the reception he afterwards 
met with from these gentlemen, and is inserted here to gratify 
the wishes of almost all the encouragers of the edition, to whom 
the author returns his most sincere and (grateful acknowledg- 
ments.— A. W.] 

That frequent reflections, and prudent remarks on 
the dai]y occurrences of life, are not only exceed- 
ingly useful, but highly necessary, for conducting us 
safely through the wiles of the world, is a truth long 
since avowed, and which none bat fools, or those des- 
titute of common sense, have ever dared to deny. 
In the hurry and heat of affairs, we are apt to be delu- 
ded by cunning, or flattered by hypocrisy — blinded 
by the fire and turbulence of passion, or imposed on 
through the softness of unsuspecting simplicity; but 
in our retired moments, a calm retrospect of transac- 
tions displays things to our view as they really are. 
Shows us where we have erred and where suffered, 
convicts us of our folly — applauds us for our pru- 
dence — and stings us with remorse or sheds a gleam 
of joy over our minds at the remembrance of past 
actions. 

Nor is a just knowledge of mankind less necessary 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. Sol 

for our spiritual as well as temporal interest. Seduced 
by the fair smiles and deep-laid schemes of men, we 
fall a prey to their avarice and cruelty ; and, capti- 
vated by the outward glare and superficial glitter of 
the pleasures, vanity and ambition of this world, we 
forget our only true good, and rivet ourselves to 
earth and its deceiving allurements. A thorough 
knowledge of mankind, on the other hand, is of 
infinite benefit. We see through their schemes, 
and easily guard against their wiles : we know the 
folly of being too sanguine in our hopes, and can 
easily compute how far interest, ambition, pride and 
prejudice, preponderate against all the other nobler 
passions of the soul. This takes the sting from 
neglect, and makes disappointment tolerable. Con- 
vinced, by the experience of ourselves and others, 
of the madness and unsatisfying delights of all sub- 
lunary pleasures, we can look with contempt on 
them all, labouring for those whose stability is 
eternal. 

But how, it may be asked, is a thorough know- 
ledge of mankind to be obtained ? Not from the ro- 
mantic pages of our novels and adventures. These 
volatile pieces show us rather what is possible might 
be, than what really exists. The knowledge of the 
world can no more be learned from them, than the 
appearance of New Holland could be known by sur- 
veying some imaginary landscape. We might there 
see the mountains, ocean, woods and rivers depicted 
with never so much art, yet, were a mariner to set 
out, in hopes of meeting the same prospect there, 
and steer by this pretended chart, I fear he would 
make but a sorry voyage. So fares it with the man, 
who, full of the enthusiastic notions of life he has 
imbibed from these wonderful productions, rushes 
into the world. What a train of unforeseen mis- 
fortunes has he to encounter ! and what complicated 



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352 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

miseries does he involve himself in ! till sober expe- 
rience opens his eyes, and sets him on his guard 
against their fraud. It is, therefore, by personal 
intercourse with the world, that its true character 
can be known, and as my employment affords me 
advantages of this kind that few others enjoy, I shall 
here relate a few facts that occurred to me in the 
course of several days peregrination, on my first 
commencing author. 

Having furnished my budget with what necessary 
articles might be required, equipt with a short oaken 
plant, I yielded my shoulders to the load, and by day- 
break left the confines of our ancient Metropolis. 

The morning was mild, clear and inviting. A gen- 
tle shower, which had fallen amid the stillness of 
night, besprinkled the fields and adjoining meadows, 
exposing them to the eye clad with brightest green, 
and glittering with unnumbered globes of dew. Na- 
ture seemed to smile on my intended expedition, I hail- 
ed the happy omen, and with a heart light as the lark 
that hovered over my head, I passed the foot of Salis- 
bury rocks, and, directing my course towards Dal- 
keith, launched among the first farms and cottages 
that offered. The country here is rich and uncom- 
monly fertile, producing an early crop, and amply re- 
paying the husbandman's toil with a plentiful return. 
A few rocky eminences rise, crowned with clusters 
of firs, which by no means offend the eye, but afford 
a striking contrast between the level and the rugged, 
the blessed and the bare. Upon the top of one of 
these heights stands the castle of Craig Miller, where 
Mary Queen of Scots was some time confined ; it now 
lies in solitary ruins. Two miles to the southward 
is the beautiful estate of Rockville, surrounded by 
most romantic pleasure grounds ; and all along, on 
every hand, the most beautiful prospects presented 
themselves to the view, till I reached Dalkeith, where 



MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 353 

I took up lodging in an old jolly widow's, whose house I 
understood, was the general resort of travellers. At 
first sight of my lusty hostess I was prepossessed in 
her favour. Her height was something more than 
that of the common size, but seemingly diminished 
by her enormous corpulence. Her eyes were piercing, 
and bespoke a mind not unacquainted with the world ; 
she spoke with a masculine sharpness, and when in- 
terrupted in her discourse with the queries of the 
servant maid, or displeased with any of her proceed- 
ings, would raise her voice, and pour forth such a 
flood of exclamations and abuse, as would have 
puzzled the powers of Dunbar or any of his cotem- 
porary rivals even to imitate. This done, the ex- 
hausted matron would resume her story with all the 
serene composure of tranquillity wiping the oily drops 
from her face, and wondering at the warmness of 
the weather. In the course of these long-winded 
narratives, she generally held forth on the many 
losses she had met with — the hardships, difficulties, 
and almost impossibilities she had encountered and 
overcome, interspersing all with anecdotes of her own 
wanton humour and activity, at which she would 
burst out into the most extravagant fits of laughter, 
till interrupted by a vehement attack of the cough. 
Sometimes too, she would entertain me with a detail 
of the adventures she had been engaged in, when in 
the flush of youth and beauty, her amours and court- 
ships, the love such and such a one bare her, "who 
is now in the dust," and the many stratagems she had 
used with these enamoured gallants ; but as this was 
a theme inexhaustable (at least to her sex), often 
without a period, and almost always uninteresting, 
I strove, when I found her entering on this subject, 
to divert her imagination to some other ; for, as 
the honest countryman, when he heard the parson 
divide his text into one hundred and sixty three heads 



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354 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

and branches, rose hastily to his feet, and being 
asked what he meant, " I am going home," says he, 
" for my night-cap, for I find we must stay here till 
morning," so, when you here a female enter into a 
relation of her love-intrigues, you may prepare, if no 
effectual interruption occurs, for the horrors of a two 
hours' tedious recital. After repaying my officious 
landlady with a glass of brandy for her marvellous 
memoirs, I retired to bed, and, early next morning, 
rose to take a view of the town. Dalkeith is situated 
in a fruitful country, six miles south from Edinburgh, 
on a rising ground, between the two rivers north and 
south Esk : these joining a little below the town, and 
running north-east for three or four miles, fall into 
the sea between Musselburgh and Fisher-row. The 
town, though not large, is neat, the streets wide, and 
the front houses, in general, genteel. The main 
street, which runs from east to west, is terminated 
on the east by the gate leading to the Duke of 
Buccleuch's palace, whose eldest son inherits the title 
of Earl of Dalkeith. The inhabitants yearly celebrate 
the Duke's birth-day by a numerous procession of 
the trades through the town, ringing of bells, &c. &c. 
Their weekly market is held on Thursday, when 
immense quantities of oat-meal pour in from the 
south, at the distance of 20 or 30 miles, is sold to ex- 
tensive dealers, and immediately dispatched to Edin- 
burgh and the west country. Their established 
church, is a black, ruinous pile of Gothic architecture, 
inelegant in itself, unwholesome to its frequenters, 
and a disgrace to the town. They have likewise 
four other places of public worship, viz. a Burgher, 
Antiburgher, Methodist and Relief meeting-house. 
The people are in general, poor, laborious and illi- 
terate, nor are their morals, especially those of the 
fair sex, much assisted by their intercourse with the 
dragoons, three or four troop of whom generally re- 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. S56 

side here, for the conveniency of oats and pasturage. 
When we are highly elevated on the wings of hope, 
if baulked in our designs or deprived of our expecta- 
tions, we sink the deeper in despondence. 

This was partly the case with me, in regard to 
this place. I had looked round on the elegant build- 
ings, valuable shops, and genteel company that 
surrounded me, and silently said to myself, surely 
in this place, unhackneyed with new publications, 
where there seems to be so many people of taste, and 
where the appearance of an author disposing of his 
own works may seem a novelty, surely in such a place 
as this, I cannot fail of success. Big with these 
enthusiastic hopes, I put a volume in my pocket and 
went immediately to the shop of a bookseller, the 
only one in town. I found him dozing over some 
old tattered papers (perhaps the MSS. of some 
forlorn and pennyless author), explained to him my 
business, showed him the book, and wished to know 
if he would purchase a few copies, or recommend me 
to any literary characters in town, whose inclination 
led them to the study of poetry. He took the book 
carelessly from me, whirled over the leaves again 
and again, enquired the price, and, in a tone that 
bespoke the meanness of his soul, told me he would 
take one of them at half price. That though he 
scarcely believed ever it would sell, yet, he would be 
so far good to me as take one of them on these terms. 
This was delivered with an air that seemed to display 
the greatness of his generosity, and to require my 
thanks in return. I eyed the avaricious wretch for 
a moment with a smile of contempt, and asked him 
if he was really sincere in what he said. Protesting 
upon his honour that he was, and that he would 
meddle with them on no other conditions, I thanked 
him for his mighty kindness, and left his shop with 
a hearty scorn for his narrowness of soul. The next 
x3 



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356 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

I made my addresses to, was a certain pedagogue, 
disabled of one leg, who, hopping up to me, enquired 
with a strange stare and impudence of look, what I 
wanted with him ? This I explained as briefly as I 
could, and putting the book into his hand, desired 
he would be pleased to take a look of it. He took 
the poems — perused them for a few moments, but 
on observing his wife approaching, gave me them 
back hastily, and saying he had no use for any of 
these things, hirpled into his noisy hub again. 

The reception I met with from these, and the 
greatest part to whom I applied, dispirited me so 
much, that, sunk in despondence, I stole to my 
lodging, and there sat, sadly ruminating on the 
unpromising face of my affairs. I had ransacked 
the whole town for traffic, in vain ; I had solicited 
the encouragement of the literary part of it with 
equal success; and when I directed my course to 
the palace, hopeful that I might there be more 
fortunate, I was repulsed by the porter, who assured 
me, that none of my occupation were allowed ad- 
mittance. This I afterwards found out to be false ; 
however, I had still one project, which, whatever 
the event might be, I was determined to put in 
execution. I had heard much said (and I believe 
justly) in praise of her Grace, the Duchess. I had 
heard her kindness, bounty, and generosity exalted 
to the heavens. Scarce a poor inhabitant but gave 
me some affecting account of her sympathy, and 
produced to my view the effects of her charity, 
while the tears of gratitude glittered in their eye. 
Roused by these considerations, and animated with 
fresh hopes by the amiable character of this dignified 
personage, I at once resolved to remit her an address, 
representing, in the most modest terms, my solitary 
situation, little doubting, but her unbounded gene- 
rosity would extend itself to an unfortunate author. 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 357 

With these resolutions, I took the pen and wrote 
the following address. 

To Her Grace, the Duchess of 

Madam, — The person who has the honour of pre- 
senting the inclosed poetical hand-bill, a humbly begs 
your gracious acceptance and perusal. The goods 
which it enumerates, your humble servant carries 
along with him, that he may, by their means, have 
an easier opportunity of soliciting the favour of the 
literary world, for a volume of poems he has just 
now published. May it therefore please your Grace, 
to allow, for once, a young poet to spread his elegant 
assortment at your feet — to entreat your acceptance 
of a copy of his poetical performances, and your 
pardon for this intrusion, which will for ever bind him, 

Madam, 

Your, &c, &c. 

This I sealed, and with a trifle bribed the porter 
to get it conveyed safely to her Grace. The janitor's 
frozen features softened at the appearance of the 
specie, he assured me of his best endeavours to assist 
me, and desired I would call about the evening, when 
without doubt I would be introduced. 

The evening arrived, and I punctually attended. 
We met, and the sum of his intelligence was this, 
that he had got it delivered into the Duchess' own 
hand, but that no answer had as yet appeared ; that, 
however, he had been, and still would be, indefati- 
gable in my interest, and intreated me to call to- 
morrow morning. This I promised to do, although 
I had already, in my own mind, interpreted her 
Grace's silence as a too plain answer, that once more 
dismissed my hopes. 

I passed the rest of the evening in observing the 
bustle and preparations every one was making for 

a See page 334. 
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358 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

the fair, which was to commence next day, and 
alighting on an acquaintance, a native of the town, 
whom I had formerly seen in the west country, we 
retired to an adjoining public house, where we might 
have a pint and a little chat to pass the evening. 
Here he informed me that the ensuing market con- 
tinued for three days, and to encourage pedlars and 
other dealers to attend, the Duchess herself, made it 
a rule every year to take a walk through the fair 
and purchase some little article from each, and that 
to-morrow's afternoon she would, according to her 
usual custom, appear in the market for that purpose. 
Of this intimation I meant to make some use, and 
resolved, that if no answer arrived prior to that 
time, to watch the offered opportunity, and make 
my address to her Grace in person. Fixed in this de- 
termination, I came home and ascended to my room, 
there to lose, for a while, the remembrance of my 
cares in the downy arms of repose. As soon as the 
first glimpses of dawn peeped into my chamber, I 
rose and took a short walk to the fields, to enjoy the 
serenity of the morn, and the richness of the pros- 
pect that every where surrounded me. There i3 
something in the mild, agreeable period of a summer's 
morning, peculiarly pleasing to persons of a con- 
templative disposition. In that delightful season 
of dewy serenity, the mind is disengaged from the 
tumultuous cares and uproar of life, her action 
renewed, and her powers invigorated by the refresh- 
ing influence of sleep. The balmy fragrance that 
perfumes the air ; the promiscuous notes of the 
feathered tribes, that, warbled in simple harmony 
from the branches, steal on the ear ; the brook glit- 
tering as it murmurs along beneath the early rays ; 
the artless whistling of the distant ploughman, and 
the universal smile that all nature wears around, 
conveys a secret, serene joy, a blissful tranquillity, 



MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 359 

that imagination wants language to describe. The 
soul is then, as it were, half relieved of her corporeal 
load. Contemplation gazes undisturbed, and fancy, 
exulting fancy, is for ever on the wing. 

Then it is, that the poor, fortuneless favourites of 
genius steal forth amid the dewy solitudes, to admire 
the astonishing wonders of nature, to give a loose to 
the excursive faculties of imagination, and to enjoy 
the transporting pleasures that arise from those su^ 
blime and delightful studies. Pleasures, that the 
grovelling sons of interest, and grubs of this world 
know as little of, and are as incapable of enjoying, 
as those miserable spirits who are doomed to per- 
petual darkness, can the glorious regions and eternal 
delights of paradise. 

The day was now advancing, and the country peo- 
ple from every quarter were thronging to the fair. 
The road seemed to move with black cattle ; whole 
flocks of sheep successively advanced to the town, 
and about mid-day the streets were all bustle aud 
commotion. The rustics in hodden gray stalked 
through the general hubbub, devouring with their 
eyes the wonderful curiosities that were exposed to 
view on the chapman's stalls, which now lined both 
sides of the streets for a considerable length. 

Universal uproar prevailed every where among the 
tumultuous crowds ; drums beating, pipes sounding, 
fiddlers playing in expectation of engagements, and 
all the other confusion that on like occasions every 
where prevail. On this hand was shouted, " Here's 
the rare gingerbread" — on the other, " Aberdeen 
new almanacks" — " A full, true and particular ac- 
count of a barbarous bloody and inhuman" 

" Cast your eye a little farther, there you have a 
grand view of the" — "Row's the time to try your 
luck; one in who makes two." These, and other 
exclamations were distinguishable, the rest was all 

x 5 



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360 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

indistinct rumour and confusion. The town now 
exhibited the appearance of trade, and merchandiz- 
ing was carried on with spirit. Meanwhile, my 
comrade and I had hung our room with shawls, silk 
handkerchiefs, muslins, printed cloth, ribbons, and a 
profusion of other gaudy finery, which, on the whole, 
made no inconsiderable appearance. We had erect- 
ed shelfs round the room for the bulk of our goods, 
and from a large window that fronted the street, dis- 
played a magnificent flag, composed of some elegant 
shawls, muslins, &c, elevated on a pole, and under- 
neath on a sheet of pasteboard, was painted in con- 
spicuous characters, " A Sale of Muslins and Prints." 
While we were thus busied in exposing and dispos- 
ing of our wares, happening to throw my eye to the 
window, I observed a group of gazing country folks 
encircling some ladies of distinction, and was imme- 
diately told by one of my customers, that it was the 
Duchess. I flew down stairs, mingled with the crowd, 
and found her Grace officiously engaged in receiving 
some silver trinkets she had purchased from an old 
chapman, who seemed to treat her with the utmost 
deference, and as she left his stall, making a most 
submissive and ridiculous bow, he turned to the bye- 
standers, and chinking the money in his hand, gave 
them a look, so expressive of extreme joy, and secret 
rapture, that excited the mirth of all around : had 
Hogarth been there, to have arrested the features 
and made them his own, his piece might have 
formed an everlasting fund of laughter. At this 
instant I pressed through the crowd, and respectfully 
approaching, informed her that I was the person who 
had sent her grace the letter last night. She paused 
for a few moments, and then inquired if I had any 
goods in the fair. I replied in the affirmative, and, 
pointing to the flag, told her I had a beautiful and 
elegant assortment of muslins within that room, where 

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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 361 

I would be happy to be honoured with her Grace's 
presence. She paused again for a moment, and saying 
in a tone that pierced me to the soul, " I don't want 
any of these things," turned with her attendants to 
the next stall. You whose souls are susceptible of 
the finest feelings, who are elevated to rapture with 
the least dawnings of hope, and sunk in despondence 
by the slightest thwarting of your expectations, think 
what I felt on this occasion. 

With a mixture of grief and indignation struggling 
in my breast, I returned to the sale-room, and leaving 
my comrade for a short time to manage affairs himself, 
retired to a corner of the room, where having pon- 
dered a while on this fresh disappointment, I started 
to myself, resolved to think no more of the matter. 
During the rest of the time we staid here, nothing in- 
teresting happened. As soon as the fair was finished, 
we made up our budgets, and taking separate courses, 
agreed to meet at night in Musselburgh, which lies 
on the shore, about three miles distant. 

In this day's excursion I met with little worthy 
remarking, and found but indifferent sale for my 
goods. Though in the bosom of a rich and luxuriant 
country, yet the houses were but thinly scattered, 
and those few I met with, were either miserable 
hovels, or lordly farms ; their possessors deprest with 
hard labour and poverty, or rendered haughty by 
pride, luxury, and absolute power over their vassals. 
The farms here being portioned out in large tracts, 
the poor peasant must be the farmer's slave, or remove 
to the town ; and I have often observed among them 
a spiritless resignation to their drudgeries and mean 
servitude. Almost unconscious that they were born 
for any other thing, but to be perpetual servants, 
from father to son, and from mother to daughter, 
they struggle with want, and rear up their offspring 
in the service of their insolent superiors. 

Y 



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352 MISCELLANEOUS FROSE WRITINGS. 

I am very far from affirming, that these poor peo- 
ple are less happy than their opulent masters, whose 
houses exhibit a continual scene of extravagant feast- 
ing, and other luxuries, copied from the laudable 
fashions of the great, those patterns of prudence, 
and leaders of mankind. I am persuaded, that the 
humble, parsimonious peasant, eats his simple meal 
with as much satisfaction, rises refreshed from his few 
hours of sleep with as much cheerfulness, and ex- 
periences more real happiness, peace of mind, and 
bodily health, than those overgorged superiors, who 
treat their dependents as slaves, and look down on 
them as beings made of an inferior mould. Yet I 
cannot forbear regretting, that the pernicious and in- 
creasing custom of extensive farms, is not abolished, 
and a lesser portion of land allotted to each ; by which 
means, the extremities of want and luxury would be 
equally avoided, the poor put on a footing to do some- 
thing for themselves and offspring, and the country, 
more honestly supplied with its own product, than 
it is at this present day. 

About the dusk of the evening I entered Mussel- 
burgh, and proceeding to the appointed rendezvous, 
found my comrade newly arrived, whose success, by 
the smiles that sat on his face, I understood to have 
been equal to his wishes. Having eat nothing since 
the morning (for the country people are become too 
fashionable, to affront a pedlar by offering him vic- 
tuals), we ordered our landlady to make ready some 
eatables, and sat down to dinner with an appetite 
that gave double relish to our small, but refreshing 
repast. 

I had, when in this town, about nine months be- 
fore, obtained subscriptions from several people of 
the place, and as our stay was intended to be short, 
I took a few copies along with me, and set out in 
search of some of those gentlemen, whose promises 

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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 363 

I had been persuaded positively to depend on. The 
first I found out, was a little, hunch- backed dominie, 
who had, formerly, professed a singular esteem for 
me, and had not only subscribed himself, but also, 
cheerfully engaged to procure me a numerous list 
among his friends. That the reader may have a 
better idea of this important teacher, I shall beg 
leave to represent him here, to his eye, as he exactly 
appeared to mine. His height was something less 
than that of an ordinary walking staff. His head 
(which far exceeded the proportion of his bulk, and 
seemed to be, " Of more than mortal size") was fixed 
between two huge eminencies, the one jutting out be- 
fore, and the other heaped up behind like a moun- 
tain. His eyes were large, and rolled for ever with 
a kind of jealous pride, and self-importance, on all 
around him. The rest of his figure was spun out 
into a pair of legs and thighs, that extending out- 
wards on each side, supported his shapeless frame, 
like the long feet of a clerk's writing stool. This 
strange phenomenon, gazing up to my face for a 
considerable time, declared he had never seen me in 
his life-time before. 

I mentioned some circumstances in our last conver- 
sation, namely, the proposed publication — subscrip- 
tion paper, with some other particulars ; and with 
difficulty brought the affair to his remembrance, 
which, he said, " Was like a dream to him." 

Having surveyed the book for some time, he en- 
quired the price, and being told it, returned the copy 
immediately, saying, he would take none of it at that 
price. I replied, that the price was no more than 
what was signified in the proposals. This he flatly 
denied ; on which, pulling out a copy of the condi- 
tions, " I'll take it on no conditions," said the imper- 
tinent dwarf. " What!" replied I, " did you not sub- 
scribe for the book !" "It might be so," said he, "but 



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364 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

show me my name ! ~No law can oblige me to take it 
unless you can show me my hand- write. " I told him, 
that I trusted as much to people's honour as their 
formal subscription, and reminded him, of putting 
the paper to which he had subscribed in his pocket, 
with a kind promise of doing something for the 
author. It was in vain that I endeavoured to ex- 
postulate the matter with him, his wife joined him, 
exclaiming, that they knew better how their money 
came, than to throw it away on nonsense ; and the 
deformed creature itself, continually squeaked out, 
" Show me my name ! show me ray name ! No law can 
oblige me, sir, unless you show me my individual 
hand- write." Although I was secretly exasperated 
at this diminutive wretch, yet I concealed my in- 
dignation, and telling him, that nature had indeed 
been very unkind to him, in giving him a crazy body 
with such an insignificant soul, left the house im- 
mediately. I proceeded next to another, of the same 
tribe, who had promised to take a copy, with this 
proviso, that I should sacrifice one half of its price 
with him at the shrine of Bacchus. I found him at 
home, and was civilly received. He looked over the 
book some time, but told me with an honest frank- 
ness, I had taken him in a wrong time, and hoped 
that I would not interpret his inability to a want of 
willingness to take the poems. Poverty, he said, had 
frozen up his pockets, and effectually prevented him 
from performing his engagement, but if at any future 
period I had occasion to pass that way, he begged 
that I would not neglect to call. I promised to do 
so, and again proceeded to another quarter of the 
town. To relate all the different receptions, and 
describe the various characters I met with in this 
place, would be tedious, and perhaps uninteresting. 
By some I was treated with the most extreme kind- 
ness ; others had entirely forgot the affair, and the 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 365 

greatest part, either could or would not, accept of it. 
Tired of this fruitless expedition, and sick of their 
mean excuses, I returned to my lodgings, and, con- 
cealing the nature of my success from my comrade, 
joined in the mirth that seemed to circle round the 
hearth. 

My companion had been sitting alone by the kit- 
chen fire, over a solitary bottle, when a little, old, de- 
cent-dressed man entered, who was soon followed by 
his spouse, and both were invited to a share of his 
bottle. This, after some few apologies, was accepted, 
and they diffidently sat down. In a simple, open 
manner the old man told him, that he was a weaver 
in the town ; that it was not his usual custom to fre- 
quent public houses, but at very rare times. c ' This 
woman and I," continued he, "have lived man and 
wife, upwards of forty years together, and it has been 
our custom, on the Tuesday's night after our Occa- 
sion,* to be hearty over a pint; and, indeed, sir, 
when folks come to our time of life, they are much 
the better ■ of a little ; and a simple bottle at a time, 
you know, can do nobody harm." My comrade 
readily agreed with his sentiments, and in the midst 
of much chit-chat, the can was cheerfully circling 
when I entered and joined the company. As the 
liquor began to ascend to our friend's upper flat, he 
forgot the reserve and diffidence that at first so much 
embarassed him, and jocosely entertained us with 
the transaction of his youth. These anecdotes, silly 
and unimportant as they were, were yet related with 
such an ignorant simplicity, and bespoke such unde- 
bauched innocence of manners, (a quality too rarely 
to be met with in an old man) that I listened, or 
rather gazed on the harmless creature, with uncom- 
mon delight. " Gentlemen," said he, " you are 
acquaint with the world, what news do you hear 

a Sacrament. 



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366 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

about this time? Think ye, will we have any fighting 
or no?" — "The last expresses bring bad news," 
replied my companion, * ' the Dutch have landed a 
large army on Holland, and taken possession of it." 
" Say you so ! (said he with great concern) that is 
bad news indeed. That puts a stop to all ! If the 
Dutch have really taken Holland, I doubt we're all 
over, for Holland had sworn to be on our side." Such 
was this reverend sire's knowledge of the world, and 
I believe it were much to the temporal and spiritual 
peace and interest of some modern politicians, that 
they knew no more. My comrade now entreated that 
he would favour us with a song. "As for songs,'' 
said he, "I can sing none ; but if any here would assist 
me, we'll try to have a Psalm tune, it is the far 
sweetest of all music." To this we all immediately 
agreed, and our groggy old dad giving out the words, 
* ; O mother dear Jerusalem," raised the Martyrs, but 
in such a style, with such a profusion of graces, and 
melancholy of tone, solemnity of look, and distortion 
of features, as made the whole company burst out 
iuto an universal roar of laughter, his spouse alone 
excepted, who, while the tune went on, seemed wrapt 
up in all the enthusiasm of devotion. 

Having amused ourselves to a late hour with this 
simple, honest couple, and sent them staggering 
home in the greatest good humour, we retired to our 
room, there to forget the toils of the day in sleep. 
Next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, I pre- 
pared to traverse the town, and marking out with 
my eye a few of the most genteel houses, proceeded 
to business. On the east end of this town, in a 
retired and most agreeable situation, stands the 
celebrated Pinky-house, the seat of the Honourable 
Sir Archibald Hope. As his lady desired me to 
send her a copj^, as soon as published, I set out 
without delay for the house, where I was kindly 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 367 

received, and generously encouraged. This was 
adding fire to my fancy, and vigour to my resolution ; 
I returned her ladyship my sincere acknowledg- 
ments, and, though in the course of my future 
applications that day, I met with a greater number 
of insolent rebuffs than usual, yet, the consideration 
of the success I had been honoured with in the 
morning, made me overlook them all. When we 
are once conscious of enjoying the kind wishes and 
approbation of the wise and good, the neglect of 
fools, and the scandal of the world, make but a slight 
impression on the mind. Persuaded of their applause, 
we rise above the malice of envy, and support the 
pressure of misfortunes with an undaunted fortitude 
and magnanimity of soul. This I call true fame, at 
once the inspiration and ample reward of every 
noble action. All else is but empty contemptible 
babbling ; the breath of fools, the noisy shoutings 
of an undiscerning mob, and the certain destroyer 
of that invaluable blessing, peace of mind. At 
evening as I was about to return home, remembering 
of having lent an innkeeper of the town a volume 
of my poems the preceding night, that he might 
have some idea of the merits of the book, before 
purchasing it, I immediately paid him a visit, and 
asked how he was pleased with the pieces. " By 
G — d," said he, "they're clever, d — ned clever, but 
I incline more to the historical way, such as Gold- 
smith's Scots History, the Inquest of Peru, and 
things of that kind, else I would cheerfully take a 
copy. The book is cheap," continued he, turning it 
round and round, "perfectly cheap. A gentleman 
from England, who stayed here all summer, and 
went away only about two weeks ago, had the big- 
gest cargo of books that ever I laid my eyes on. 
Had you been but so lucky as to have come here 
then — by G — d he would have bought a whole 



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368 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

trunk -full from you !" The experience I had of the 
world, made me soon see through this silly evasion, 
and but little regret my want of acquaintance with 
this wonderful literary hero ; yet I could not help 
smiling at his harangue, and enquiring when the 
gentleman would return, told him not to neglect 
writing to me as soon as he arrived, and putting 
the poems in my pocket, went directly home. And 
now, having done all the business we could in this 
place, and directed the bulk of our goods to Had- 
dington, we called our landlady, and discharged the 
bill, in order to be ready for setting out at an early 
hour next day. Before concluding my account of 
this town, I might here mention some gentlemen, 
whose generosity I experienced, and likewise pre- 
sent the reader with a sketch of some characters, 
whose insults, pride, and stupidity, I bore with; 
but as the former of these will, I hope, accept of 
this general acknowledgment, and as the latter are 
of a class too despicable for notice, I decline saying 
any more. Some of them, I am convinced, suffer 
at present the effects of their own folly, and, by their 
wretched poetical attempts and translations, have 
exposed to the world, their miserable taste and 
enormous ignorance. 

The morning was spreading gray in the east, the 
air mild and still, and the sun a little above the 
horizon, when, laden with our respective budgets, 
my companion and I departed from Musselburgh, 
and, with our face to the east, plodded along the 
shore. Here we had leisure to survey, and opportu- 
nity to contemplate the vast prospect that surrounded 
us. The frith of Forth, which divides east Lothian 
from Eifeshire, is, here, about ten miles over ; and 
we could plainly discover the long train of towns 
that stretch along the opposite coast. The sea was 
smooth as glass, and interspersed with a considerable 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 369 

number of large vessels, moving lazily along on the 
tide, while their white canvass glittered in the sun. 
The sea-fowl clamoured from every quarter, and a 
vast number of fishing-boats from different places, 
were scattered about a mile from the shore, intent 
at their occupation. Behind us, Arthur's Seat rose 
towering to the heavens. To the west and north, 
was seen the mountains of Fife, and to the east, the 
most conspicuous were, North-Berwick-Law and 
the Bass, rising a little above the main land. The 
melody of birds on the one hand, the solemn sound- 
ing of the sea along the peebly shore on the other, 
joined to the wide watery prospect that spread 
before us, formed a most enchanting entertainment, 
that at once delighted the eye, charmed the ear, 
and conveyed a tide of rapture to the whole soul. 
We proceeded forward in this manner, for about a 
mile, when turning to the right hand, we ascended 
a steep hill, and directed our steps to every hut and 
human abode that came within ken. The land here 
is high, commanding a still more extensive view of 
the frith, and the rich fertile country around ; 
adorned at little distances with some not inelegant 
country seats, surrounded with clusters of pine 
plantings, huge army oaks, and green pleasure- 
grounds, which serve as pasturage, to some fine 
flocks of sheep, cows, and oxen. As the day began 
to decline in the west, we descended to Preston- 
pans, a black uncomfortable town on the shore ; and 
about three miles distant from Musselburgh. Here 
I made a few efforts to recommend myself and wares 
to some of the principal inhabitants, but without 
success ; and seeing neither the appearance of sale, 
nor the prospect of finding common accommodation 
for the night, we left its smoky confines, that seemed 
to be overlaid with eternal showers of soot, and 
travelling for about two miles to the south, through 



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370 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

those fields, once stained with the blood, and strewed 
with the carcasses of our contesting countrymen, 
we reached Tranent, where, after an hour's fruitless 
search for lodgings, we were at last directed to the 
house of an honest Northumbrian, who kept a little 
genteel public house, and were treated with a 
generous and cheerful hospitality. The table was 
spread with excellent provision, the beer went freely 
round, and an old travelling fiddler who sat by the 
fire, in recompense for the few draughts he had 
drunk, tuned his instrument, and entertained us 
with a mixture of murdered sounds, and squeaking 
discords. 

There is no species of pleasure more generally 
pleasing, or made more welcome to the human heart, 
than flattery. Flattery is the food of vanity, and 
vanity is the daughter of ignorance. To know our- 
selves, is the only method to exclude vanity, and 
the certain way to despise flattery. Yet, such is 
the frailty of our nature, that the minds of the 
wisest, as well as those of the most foolish, are apt, 
at certain times, to be swelled by a secret pride, and 
conscious belief of a worth and importance, beyond 
what they really possess. These ideas, privately 
indulged, are not without their doubts ; but when 
persons are once applauded to the skies for those 
rare qualities, and celebrated for the express excel- 
lencies* which they long supposed themselves pos- 
sessed of, their doubts instantly disappear — their 
pride rises confirmed of its master's mighty impor- 
tance, and the flatterer is hugged as their noblest 
friend — one who has at length ventured to tell the 
truth; whose candour and penetration can justly 
discern, and honestly display the brilliancy of their 
merits. With a full dose of this inspiring potion, 
we treated our inimitable musician, and by extolling 
the loudness of his fiddle, the agility with which he 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 371 

played, the almost innumerable multitudes of his 
tunes, and, in short, every other quality that be- 
longed to a good performer, we kept him scratching 
among the strings, till a profusion of sweat streamed 
from every quarter of his countenance, and the toll- 
ing of the town bell summoned us to bed. Next 
morning we rose to take a view of the town, and 
seeing it to be but trifling, composed for the most 
part of mean houses, occupied by labourers and 
some weavers (who in this part of the country are 
wretchedly poor), we resumed our budgets, and 
proceeded eastward to Haddington, keeping the 
highway, sometimes on this hand, sometimes on 
that, according as the situation of the farm-houses 
lay. As we were thus tacking from place to place, 
a white house, that crowned the top of a neighbour- 
ing hill, about half a mile from the road, caught my 
eye, and as its outward appearance seemed to indi- 
cate better within, I steered directly for the glittering 
mansion. On my arrival, without stopping to 
knock (a ceremony never practised by pedlars, ex- 
cept when absolute necessity requires), I entered a 
spacious kitchen where a large fire flamed in the 
chimney, over which an enormous pot raged with 
the heat, while a couple of cats basked on the hearth. 
All around wore the appearance of sumptuous plenty, 
but human creature I neither saw nor heard. Tired 
with clambering up the steep, I threw down my 
budget on the top of an old trunk, and sat down, 
expecting that some of the family would soon ap- 
pear. I had not been long seated, when an over- 
grown mastiff entered from another door, and, 
eyeing me with a look of fury, passed and repassed 
several times, then stretching himself on the floor, 
fixed his red eye-balls with a grim, sulky, jealousy, 
broad in my face. I had rested for upwards of a 
quarter of an hour without any person making their 



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372 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

appearance. Having little time to lose, I determined 
to stay no longer, and rose, with an intention of 
lifting my load ; at this moment, the furious animal 
sprung forwards, and, with a most infernal growl, 
seized me by the breast, and drove me against the 
partition! — Stunned as I was at this unexpected 
salute, I endeavoured by soft and soothing phrases, 
to get from his ungracious embrace, but I soothed 
in vain ; he was proof against all the arts of flattery, 
which seemed rather to inflame his rage, than soften 
him to peace. Meantime I burned with fury to be 
disengaged, and, had a large knife, which lay on the 
board, been within reach, I had most certainly 
plunged it into his entrails, and freed myself from 
this ferocious animal ; but I was pinned to the wall, 
and to move was death. In this situation, I stood 
for some time, when an old lady entered, and seeing 
two such figures, in such a position, started back, 
and stood for a few moments, fixed in astonishment. 
I briefly explained the circumstances to her, and 
desired her to call down the dog ; this she instantly 
did, and delivered me from one of the most disagree- 
able companions I ever had in my life. Meantime, 
the servants entering, she severely reprimanded 
them for leaving the kitchen, and relating the affair, 
a general laugh commenced, in which, being now 
out of danger, I heartily joined, resolved for the 
future to take care, when, and where, I parted with 
my budget. Whether this humorous accident had 
opened their hearts, or that they really stood in need 
of these articles, I know not, but an uncommon 
spirit for purchasing seemed to prevail ; my wares 
were tossed out on a large table, a group soon as- 
sembled, and for upwards of two hours, I was closely 
engaged cutting, measuring, and pocketing the cash ; 
while the old matron, herself, hearing I was an au- 
thor, liberally purchased a copy of my poems. After 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 373 

which the servants began, with no less spirit ; so 
that, what betwixt the success of my sale, and the 
enjoyment of a plentiful dinner, I had almost forgot 
the horror of the mastiff's growls, when I gratefully 
left the house, gained the highway, and in a short 
time joined my companion. 



THE SOLITARY PHILOSOPHER, 

ADDRESSED TO THE EDITOR OF THE " BEE." 

Sir, — Among all the variety of interesting pieces 
with which you weekly entertain your readers, none 
please me more than those anecdotes that relate to 
originality of character in particular individuals; 
and I am somewhat surprised that your philosophi- 
cal correspondents have not favoured us with more 
frequent accounts of these uncommon personages 
than they have done. You have yourself acknow- 
ledged that one great design of your work is to bring 
to light men of genius, or, in other words, persons 
who might otherwise have languished in obscurity, 
whose superior talents and studious exertions enable 
them to be important members of society, and highly 
beneficial to their fellow creatures. But in what 
manner shall those proceed, who, though possessing 
much real genius and valuable knowledge, are either 
unwilling, or, being destitute of literary abilities, 
are unable to present themselves or their discoveries 
to the world through your paper. They must still 
remain in obscurity if no assisting hand interferes ; 
and except for the remembrance of a few friends, the 
world may never know that such persons ever ex- 
isted. Give me leave, therefore, for once, to act 
the part of introducer, and present you with a short 
account of an original still in life. 

On the side of a large mountain, about ten miles 



(£) 



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874 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

west from this place, in a little hut of his own rear- 
ing, which has known no other possessor these fifty 
years, lives this strange and very singular person. 
Though his general usefulness and communicative 
disposition requires him often to associate with the 
surrounding rustics, yet, having never had an incli- 
nation to travel farther than to the neighbouring 
village, and being totally unacquainted with the 
world, his manners, conversation, and dress, are 
strikingly noticeable. A little plot of ground that 
extends round his cottage is the narrow sphere to 
which he confines himself; and in this wild retreat 
he appears to a stranger as one of the early inhabi- 
tants of earth, ere polished by frequent intercourse, 
or united in society. In his youth being deprived 
of the means of education, and till this hour a stran- 
ger to reading, the most valuable treasures of time are 
utterly unknown to him, so that what knowledge he 
has acquired seems to be from the joint exertions of 
vigorous powers and an unwearied course of experi- 
ments. 

It is impossible, in the limited bounds of this pa- 
per, to give the particulars of all the variety of pro- 
fessions in which he engages, and in which he is 
allowed by the whole inhabitants around him to excel. 
His genius seems universal ; and he is at once by na- 
ture, botanist, philosopher, naturalist, and physician. 

The place where he resides seems indeed peculi- 
arly calculated for assisting him in these favourite 
pursuits. Within a stone's throw of his hut, a deep 
enormous chasm extends itself up the mountain for 
more than four miles, through the bottom of which 
a large body of water rages in loud and successive 
falls through the fractured channel, while its stu- 
pendous sides, studded with rocks, are overhung 
with bushes and trees, that meeting from opposite 
sides, and mixing their branches, entirely conceal, 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 3J5 

at times, the river from view; so that when a spec- 
tator stands above he sees nothing but luxuriance of 
green branches and tops of trees, and hears at a 
dreadful distance below the brawling of the river. 
In this vale, or glen, innumerable rare and valuable 
herbs are discovered; and in the harvest months 
this is his continual resort. He explores it with 
most unwearied attention, climbs every cliff, even 
the most threatening, and from the perplexing pro- 
fusion of plants, collects those herbs of whose quali- 
ties and value he is well acquainted. For this purpose 
he has a large basket with a variety of divisions, in 
which he deposits every particular species by itself. 
With this he is often seen labouring home to his 
hut, where they are suspended in large and nume- 
rous parcels from the roof, while the sage himself sits 
smiling amidst his simple stores. 

In cultivating his little plot of ground, he pro- 
ceeds likewise by methods entirely new to his neigh- 
bours. He has examined, by numberless strange 
experiments, the nature of the soil, watches every 
progressive advance of the grain, and so well is he 
provided for its defence against vermin, that they 
are no sooner seen than destroyed. By these means 
he has greatly enriched the soil, which was by na- 
ture barren and ungenerous, while his crop nearly 
doubles that of his neighbours, the superstitious of 
whom, from his lonely life, and success in these 
affairs, scruple not to believe him in league with the 
devil. 

As a mechanic, he is confined to no particular 
branch. He lives by himself, and seems inclined to 
be dependant on none. He is his own shoemaker, 
cutler, and tailor ; builds his own barns, and raises 
his own fences ; threshes his own corn, and, with 
very little assistance, cuts it down. From his in- 
fancy he has enjoyed an uninterrupted flow of health, 

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376 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

but there is scarce a neighbouring peasant around 
who has not, when wounded by accident, or confined 
by sickness, experienced the salutary effects of his 
skill. 

In these cases his presence of mind is surprising, 
his applications simple, his medicines within the 
reach of every cottager, and in effecting a cure, he 
is seldom unsuccessful. Nor is his assistance in phy- 
sic and surgery confined to the human species alone. 
Domestic and useful animals of every kind profit by 
his researches. He has been known frequently to cure 
horses, cows, sheep, &c, by infusing herbs among 
warm water, and giving them to drink. In short, so 
fully persuaded are the rustics of his knowledge, in 
the cause and cure of disorders, to which their cattle 
are subject, that in every critical or alarming case he 
is immediately consulted, and his prescription observ- 
ed with the most precise exactness. I should arrogate 
too much to my own praise to say that I was the first 
who took any particular notice of this solitaire. He 
is known to many ingenious gentlemen in that place 
of the country, and has been often the subject of 
their conversation and wonder. Nor has the hon- 
ourable gentleman whose tenant he is, suffered 
this rustic original to pass unnoticed or unbefriend- 
ed ; but with his usual generosity, and a love to 
mankind, that dignifies all his actions, has from 
time to time transmitted to him parcels of new and 
useful plants, roots, seeds, &c, while the other shows 
himself worthy of such bounty, by a yearly specimen 
of their products, and a relation of the maimer in 
which he treated them. 

About six months ago I went to pay him a visit, 
along with an intimate friend, no less remarkable for 

a natural curiosity On arriving at his little hut, 

we found, to our no small disappointment, that he 
was from home. As my friend, however, had never 

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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 377 

been in that part of the country before, I conducted 
him to the glen, to take a view of some of the beau- 
tifully romantic scenes and wild prospects that this 
place affords. We had not proceeded far along the 
bottom of the vale, when, hearing a rustling among 
the branches above our heads, I discovered our hoary 
botanist, with his basket, passing along the brow of 
a rock, that hung almost over the centre of the 
stream. Having pointed him out to my companion, 
we were at a loss for some time how to bring about 
a conversation with him : having however, a flute 
in my pocket, of which music he is exceedingly fond, 
I began a few airs, which, by the sweetness of the 
echoes, were heightened into the most enchanting 
melody. In a few minutes this had its desired effect ; 
and our little old man stood beside us, with his 
basket in his hand. On stopping at his approach, 
he desired us to proceed, complimented us on the 
sweetuess of our music, expressed the surprise he 
was in on hearing it ; and leaning his basket on an 
old trunk, listened with all the enthusiasm of rap- 
ture. He then, at our request, presented us with a 
sight of the herbs he had been collecting, entertain- 
ed us with a narrative of the discoveries he had made 
in his frequent searches through the vale, " which," 
said he, "contains treasures that few know the va- 
lue of." 

Seeing us pleased with this discourse, he launched 
forth into a more particular account of the vegeta- 
bles, reptiles, wild beasts, and insects that frequented 
the place, and with much judgment explained their 
various properties. " Were it not" says he, " for the 
innumerable millions of insects, that in the summer 

^ months swarm in the air, I believe dead carcasses and 
other putrid substances might have dreadful effects ; 
but no sooner does a carcase begin to grow putrid, 
than these insects, led by the smell, flock to the 
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378 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

place, and there deposit their eggs, which in a few 
clays produce such a number of maggots, that the 
carcase is soon consumed. While they are thus em- 
ployed below, the parent flies are no less busy in de- 
vouring the noxious vapours that incessantly ascend, 
thus the air by these insects is kept sweet and pure, 
till the storms of winter render their existence un- 
necessary, and at once destroys them. And Heaven 
that has formed nothing in vain, exhibits these 
things to our contemplation, that we may adore that 
all bounteous Creator, who makes even the most 
minute and seemingly destructive creatures subser- 
vient to the good of man." 

In such a manner did this poor and illiterate pea- 
sant moralize on the common occurrences of nature ; 
these glorious and invaluable truths did he deduce 
from vile reptiles, the unheeded insect, an d simple 
herb, that lies neglected or is trodden under foot as 
useless or offensive ; and what friend to mankind 
does not, on contemplating this hoary rustic's story, 
fondly wish, with its writer, that learning had lent 
its aid to polish a genius that might have one day 
surprised the world with the glorious blaze of a 
Locke or a Newton. 

I have nothing, Sir, to offer as an apology for the 
length of this paper, but the entertainment I hoped 
it might afford your numerous readers, and its truth, 
which is not unknown to a number of your respect- 
able subscribers in this quarter, some of whom may 
perhaps favour you with more particulars respecting 
his discoveries than can at present be given by 

A. W N. a 

Paisley, February 16, 1791. 

a We extract this letter from the " Bee," of March, 1791 ; and 
as an illustration to it, the following paragraph from Sir W. Jar- 
dine's edition of the Ornithology, is given. It will be obvious 
to the reader, that Wilson's description of this real and singular- 
ly remarkable individual, does not altogether agree with Jardine's, 

<2> ^ ■ ■. t ,-, -^^^=== 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 379 

ORATION OX THE POWER AND VALUE OF 
NATIONAL LIBERTY, 

DELIVERED TO A LARGE ASSEMBLY OF CITIZENS, AT MILESTOWN, 
PENNSYLVANIA, ON WEDNESDAY, MARCH 4TH, 1801, THE DAY 
ON WHICH MR. JEFFERSON WAS ELECTED PRESIDENT. 

Disguise thyself as thou wilt, still, Slavery, still thou art a 
bitter draught ; and though thousands in all ages have been made 
to drink of thee, thou art no less bitter on that account. 

Sterne. 

Gentlemen, — The subject to which I mean to call 
your attention, on this distinguished occasion, is 
the power and value of national liberty ; sl subject of 
all other earthly concerns the most interesting to 

but no doubts of uncertainty need be entertained as to whose is 
the most correct, for Wilson being personally acquainted with 
the original, his must have the preference and can be depended 
on. It is said that Wilson offered himself to the editor, Dr. An- 
derson, as assistant editor, and had at one time someihopes of his 
services being accepted : — 

" This very eccentric character, whom Wilson had discovered 
during his rambles, and frequently visited, was an Irishman 
named Robert Carswell, and received the nickname of Tippenny 
Robin, from the circumstance of his never accepting more than 
twopence for a day's work, except during harvest, when he allow- 
ed it to be doubled. He lived in a small thatched house, at the 
Kaim, on the Calder, but was very anxious to possess another 
dwelling, objecting to that in which he lived on account of a loft, 
which he said prevented his prayers from reaching heaven. The 
inside was very dirty, filled with peats and potatoes, and was 
never allowed to be swept unless by himself. He had hoarded up 
some money, which was kept in paper parcels of a few shillings 
each, generally scattered about the floor, and which, at his death, 
he bequeathed to the parish poor. His dress was a plain plaiding 
doublet, the waist girt with a rope of straw or tow, in the one 
side of which was always hung the key of his door, and in the 
other stuck a bourtree sheath, for holding his knitting-wires. 
Notwithstanding these habits, he had received abetter education, 
could read and write, and possessed a considerable number of 
books — he could also fence. He was a Cameronian, and eve 1 y 
Friday left his house early for some wild elevated ground, carry- 
ing with him a creel-full of books, and remained abroad the 
whole day." 



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380 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

men ; but particularly so to freemen . It is indeed 
with the deepest consciousness of my utter inability 
to do justice to so noble a theme, that I venture to 
address you on this auspicious day ; but trusting, 
with all my deficiencies, to the indulgence of this 
numerous and respectable assembly, many of whom 
I know have hazarded their lives in defence of 
liberty, and all of whom I trust glory in this ines- 
timable inheritance, I solicit for myself your kind 
and patient attention. 

There is not, perhaps, in the whole English lan- 
guage, a more expressive term than the word liberty. 
The very sound seems to inspire with ardour, and 
to rouse the heart to energy. Among the ancient 
Romans it was a sacred and soul-inspiring name, 
that animated their legions to battle, and resounded 
in times of peace, through that immense republic, 
in songs of triumph. During your late arduous, but 
triumphant struggle for independence, in this western 
world, with a powerful and inveterate antagonist ; a 
kingdom of soldiers and seamen, provided with every 
necessary, and every implement of destruction in 
abundance, against an infant colony of farmers and 
woodsmen, without fleets, without armies, unprac- 
tised in the bloody arts of war and dispersed over an 
immense country, it was this inspiring name, liberty, 
that collected from every direction your gallant 
youths — that created arms, heroes, and armies — 
that bore you on through every danger, and every 
difficulty, to victory and glory, and drove your 
enemies before you back to the ocean, as the gloomy 
clouds of the east roll back before the irresistible 
fury of the roaring north-west It was this illus- 
trious name, and your glorious example, that roused, 
as if by electricity, a great, but deeply oppressed 
nation, of twenty-five millions of people, to burst 
the chains and rivetted shackles of despotism, as in 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 881 

a moment, and to hurl back the accumulated ven- 
geance of ages of sufferings on the heads of their 
overwhelmed oppressors. It was this that demolished 
the gloomy dungeons of the Bastile — that dethroned, 
and devoted to punishment, a once powerful monarch, 
and has rendered the Erench nation not only in- 
vincible, but victorious over the whole combined 
arms of Europe. 

How astonishing that one word should produce such 
extraordinary effects ; and more astonishing still, if, 
as some persons assert, this thing liberty be nothing 
more than a name — an ideal notion, that exists but 
in imagination. Amazing, indeed, that a mere 
name — an ideal notion — should inspire millions of 
men to scorn every danger, to face death in its mo'st 
terrible forms, and glory, with their expiring breath, 
in their cause ! No, gentlemen, the heroes of America, 
thank Heaven ! have demonstrated to the world that 
liberty is something more than a name — something 
more than a nation ; — that it is a blessed and sub- 
stantial reality, the great strength and happiness 
of nations, and the universal and best friend of man. 
In order to give you a concise and comprehensive 
definition of true liberty, it will be necessary for me, 
in the first place, to observe, that there have been 
people in the world weak or wicked enough to be- 
lieve that liberty was the right and privilege of 
doing just whatever they pleased. This so far from 
being liberty is the most complete tyranny, and 
would, if adopted, introduce universal anarchy, and 
the total subversion of all society. The strong would 
overpower the weak ; they, in their turn, would prey 
upon and devour one another; all right, justice, and 
civilization, would be completely swept away, and 
nothing left of man but an unprincipled herd of 
ferocious savages. Thi% therefore, cannot be true 
liberty, even according to these gentlemen's own 



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282 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

opinions ; for it would then be no imaginary notion, 
no airy dream, but a most dreadful reality indeed. 

There have been others who have imagined liberty 
to consist in an equality of property, and have look- 
ed upon those who were richer, or had greater pos- 
sessions than themselves, as exceptions to, and 
violators of this their favourite system of liberty. 
Such an opinion as this can only arise from ignorance 
or want of reflection on the nature of man. A mo- 
ment's consideration might, methinks, make its 
absurdity and even impossibility evident to every 
one. Suppose, for the sake of argument, that such 
an equal and universal distribution of property was 
made, how long would it continue so? Not a day ! 
no, perhaps, not an hour ! Some would be more in- 
dolent, some more extravagant, others more indus- 
trious, careful, or enterprizing, than the rest, and 
the property of these would increase or diminish 
accordingly. If indeed, all men were equally strong, 
equally industrious, frugal, and ingenious, such a 
state of things might perhaps be possible ; but as 
mankind now are, of such various inclinations, 
powers, and dispositions, disproportion of property 
is only a necessary consequence of this disproportion 
of abilities, and has been and will continue to be so 
till the end of time. No! gentlemen, true liberty 
consists, not in depriving any person of the advan- 
tages of superior talents and acquirements, or in 
robbing the industrious to support the idle and 
extravagant ; but in securing to every man the fruits 
of his own honest diligence, or those which have 
descended to him from his forefathers. True genuine 
national liberty may, in a few words, be defined thus : 
— the full and unrestrained freedom of speaking and 
acting to promote our own happiness, in so far as 
we do not encroach on the like rights of another — 
the se( ure protection of person and x>roperty under 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 383 

good and equitable laws — the strict and impartial 
distribution of justice to all ranks and descriptions 
of persons — and the free exercise of opinion and 
religious worship. These constitute true liberty — 
these are the fountains from whence every blessing 
flows that renders human life desirable. Nor are 
they the gifts of man, but the birth-right of every 
human being, bestowed on him by his great Creator. 
Possessed of these, arts, science, agriculture, com- 
merce, virtue, religion, and the whole resources of a 
nation flourish. Deprived of them the most gloomy 
ignorance, vice, barbarity, oppression, and bigotrj', 
descend, in dismal darkness, and spread ruin and 
desolation over a wretched country. 

To confirm and illustrate these truths, and to show 
liberty in all its native loveliness, we need only 
contrast it with the hideous picture of slavery, 
which the history of almost every region of this 
restless globe has exhibited to our melancholy con- 
templation. 

The first and most ancient account we have of 
national slavery is recorded in the book of Exodus, 
where we are told that the children of Israel were made 
to serve, with rigour, as slaves to the Egyptians — 
that they were loaded beyond their strength — 
that their lives were made bitter with hard bondage, 
in mortar and in brick, and that in order to prevent 
them from multiplying, and thereby becoming for- 
midable to their oppressors, their male infants were 
'most inhumanly ordered to be murdered as soon as 
born. It is added, that they cried because of their 
affliction, and their cries came up before God, (as 
the cries of the oppressed always will,) who rescued 
them from slavery and overthrew their oppressors. 
In this account, there are two things particularly 
worthy of notice; how weak and contemptible v 
these Israelites while under the lash of tyranny ; but 



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384 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

no sooner, were they encircled with freedom than 
they assumed a most formidable appearance, and not 
only became invulnerable to their enemies, but 
conquered almost wherever they went. Again, by 
attentively considering the history of this wonderful 
people, it would appear that the Supreme Being 
himself considered national slavery as the deepest 
state of human wretchedness, by making it his usual 
and most awful punishment for their great national 
offences. Accordingly, we read that their whole 
country was ravaged by the Babylonians — their king 
carried in chains to Babylon, and themselves sold 
for bondmen and bondwomen, and whoever will take 
the trouble of reading the 5th chapter of the Lamen- 
tations of Jeremiah, or the 28th of Deuteronomy, 
from the 29th verse to the end, will there find such 
a detail of the miseries of slavery, as cannot fail of 
affecting every generous heart with horror and 
indignation. 

Since that period what innumerable scenes of 
more aggravated cruelty have succeeded! What 
long and bloody tragedies of real woe have been 
acted upon the vast theatre of this world ! What 
immense portions of this habitable globe have been 
laid waste, depopulated, and covered with ruins ! 
What multitudes of the human race have been mur- 
dered, with every circumstance of cruelty, to satiate 
the ambition, revenge, or madness of tyranny ! Even 
at this moment how many of our fellow-creatures 
in different quarters of the world, as virtuous, as 
brave, as deserving as we are, lie groaning in hopeless 
wretchedness, under the trampling feet of this mon- 
ster, denied even the poor comfort of complaining. 
Yes, citizens, millions of your fellow beings are at 
this moment in actual want of bread — surrounded 
by all the horrors of famine, not the effect of unpro- 
ductive seasons or bad crops, but the consequence 



MISCELLANEOUS THOSE WRITINGS. 385 

of a long, bloody, and unjust war, begun and per- 
sisted in contrary to the will, and in spite of the 
wishes, tears, and prayers of the people. 

2>Teed I enlarge further on this gloomy side of the 
subj ect to raise in your souls an abhorrence of tyranny. 
Need I add to this black catalogue the bloody per- 
secutions, burnings, banishments, andimprisonments 
for religion, that have disgraced every country in 
Europe, where men were compelled to act contrary 
to their consciences or suffer death? Where the 
flames were kindled ; the images of saints presented, 
and the poor sufferer left to his choice, to worship 
the one, or be thrown into the other. Where gloomy 
inquisitions were erected, and wheels, racks, and 
other instruments of torture, set to work in their 
dismal dungeons, the bare recital of whose scenes 
would be sufficient to freeze the blood with horror. 

Let no man say that the danger of a repetition of 
these things are past. The spirit and principles that 
led to these atrocities remain to this day, interwoven 
with, and incorporated into almost all the old 
governments of Europe, and will, if not thoroughly 
reformed, burst out into such, and perhaps much 
more outrageous persecutions, unless the righteous 
Judge and Great Ruler of the universe has already 
sealed their universal downfall and total destruc- 
tion. 

Erom these dreary and distressing scenes, let us 
now turn to that glorious deliverer, that illustrious 
benefactress of mankind, before whose august pre- 
sence tyrants expire, and all those horrors vanish 
like the shades of night before the splendour of the 
rising sun. In this western woody world, far from 
the contaminating influence of European politics, 
has the great temple of liberty been erected. Under 
no government on earth is so large, so equal a portion 
of civil and religious freedom enjoyed by every in- 



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886 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

dividual citizen. What are the governments of the 
old world but huge devouring monsters, gorging 
their ferocious maws with the hard earned morsels of 
the oppressed multitude, drinking up their tears, 
and sporting with their bloody sufferings? Read 
their histories — visit their countries— converse with 
their most intelligent inhabitants — and the more you 
see, and hear, and experience, the more you will 
love and venerate this great, this stupendous, and, 
as I trust, everlasting monument of the power and 
value of liberty, which you and your fathers have 
erected for the refuge, the happiness, and inheritance 
of unborn millions. Indeed, gentlemen, I cannot 
more strikingly illustrate the power, and demon- 
strate the value of liberty, than by giving you the 
outlines of this immense structure, and contrasting 
it with the fairest and most boasted system of govern- 
ments that kings and their sycophants can produce. 
Here the great body of the people, of which this 
respectable audience form apart, are the fountain of 
all power, and their will the foundation on which the 
whole superstructure of government is erected. By 
your voice it was called into existence, for your 
benefit it is altered and improved, by your energy and 
talents it is supported and directed. You make, or 
you unmake laws — you declare war, or you proclaim 
peace. Not, indeed, in your own individual persons, 
but in the persons of your rea/representatives. From 
the wisest and most faithful of your fellow-citizens, 
you select men to perform the great duties of go- 
vernment. Their tour of duty over, if they have 
shown themselves worthy of your confidence, they 
are re-appointed ; if not, they descend again into the 
rank of a private citizen. In the exercise of this 
right, by the people themselves, lies the chief excel- 
lence of a republican form of government ; as it not 
only makes the representatives responsible to, and 



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3IISCELLANEOJJS PROSE WRITINGS. 387 

dependent on the people, as they ought to be, but 
provides an effectual remedy for almost every abuse, 
by enabling the people to remove from the great 
councils of the nation, those men, whose measures 
and designs may be deemed hostile to their liberties. 
How different this from those wretched countries of 
Europe, where the voice of the people is totally dis- 
regarded, or treated with the utmost contempt. 
Where two or three men of property appoint a nominal 
representative for thousands, and where hundreds of 
thousands have no representative at all. Where 
those who fight their battles, cultivate their fields, 
and crown their tables with every luxury, are looked 
down on as beings of an inferior species, and branded 
with the opprobrious epithet of the swinish multitude; 
where their haughty rulers are born kings, bishops, 
and legislators, though nature, perhaps, has made 
them fools ; and where these important and awful 
offices, on the proper management of which the lives 
and welfare of so many millions depend, descend, 
as an inheritance, from father to son, however weak, 
wicked, or unprincipled. 

Universal liberty of conscience, in matters of re- 
ligion, is here established on the most liberal ground. 
Every citizen who believes in one Supreme Being, 
is eligible, with the exceptions of some slight con- 
siderations of age and residence, to the highest places 
of trust and honour, and may worship God as may 
seem most agreeable to his conscience. Compare 
this with the churches of Europe, as established by 
law — with the despotism of the Romish church in 
Spain, Italy, and Portugal, to whose creed every 
officer of government must conform, or affect to 
conform, and where the people are compelled to sup- 
port, at an enormous expence, a multitude of priests, 
monks, friars, &c, who swarm, like the devouring 
locusts, over the face of the whole country, and in- 



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388 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS 

solently claim the tenth of all the produce of the 
industrious farmer, even to his fowls and to his 
chickens. Here their rulers, arrogate to themselves 
dominion over the soul as well as the body, their 
laws and forms must be rigidly observed, even in 
violation of conscience itself. The arbitrary act of 
religious persecution, not long ago exhibited in one 
of these countries, cannot yet be forgotten, where a 
poor man was committed to prison for life, for 
refusing to swear in a court of justice, though he 
offered to affirm, but was afterwards under the 
necessity, in order to save a small family from starv- 
ing, to comply with the law, and to swear contrary 
to his conscience, a 

Another excellence of liberty is the freedom of the 
press. Here every person entrusted with power may 
be brought before the great tribunal of the people ; 
his whole conduct, measures, and sentiments tried 
by the principles of the constitution. His imbecility, 
villany, or corruption, arraigned and exposed to the 
world, provided nothing is asserted but what can be 
substantiated by facts. This, gentlemen, is a most 
valuable privilege ; it may be called the very right 
arm, the grand watch-tower — the most formidable 
bastion of liberty, from whence, and by which, the 
true patriot can guard against every open or insidious 
approach, and repel, with success, every daring attack 
on the liberties of his country. 

These are some of the innumerable blessings of 
liberty, for the attainment and preservation of which 
so much blood has been shed — so many dangers 
defied — and such prodigies of valour performed as 
have astonished the world. This is the glorious 
object that filled and animated the hearts of that 
illustrious train of heroes who fell on your ravished 
fields and bloody fortresses, fighting for the liberties 
a See the Trial of Thomas Muir. 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 389 

of their country. Heroes whom no corruption could 
seduce, nor toils discourage, nor dangers, nor death 
itself terrify. Faithful to the standard of liberty, 
she has now surrounded their brows with immortal 
honours. Their names will live in the hearts, and 
breathe with ardour from the lips of Americans, 
while sun and moon endureth ; and future ages shall 
shed tears of triumphant joy and honest pride over 
the history of their immortal achievements. This 
is the charm that has continued to draw such multi- 
tudes from almost every nation in Europe to this 
our land of liberty — to more abundant stores and 
a happier home. This is the power that in little 
more than a century has made cities, fields, arts and 
science flourish and spring up from a howling wilder- 
ness ; and, with a rapidity of population unexampled 
in the history of mankind, has, from a few scattered 
adventurers, made us a great, powerful, and inde- 
pendent nation. Indeed what is there in human life 
pleasing or desirable that we owe not, under Provi- 
dence, to liberty ? Is the protection of property a 
blessing ? She guards with a jealous, but impartial 
eye, the rich man's millions, with the poor man's 
mite. Is the free worship of God, the pouring out 
our hearts to him in such way and manner as con- 
science may dictate, a blessing ? She beholds with a 
sacred reverence, with an unbounded charity, the 
various devotions of every sect — prefers not one 
above another — believes in the piety and sincerity of 
all, nor suffers any human being to dare to intrude 
between God and his creature. 

Is the advantage of education a blessing ? She 
opens and establishes seminaries of learning — pro- 
motes and protects the liberty of the press — and 
holds out to all the greatest incitements to virtue 
and learning, by asking no other qualifications for 
places of the highest trust than talents and sound 



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390 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

principles. Is national peace a distinguished blessing? 
She pursues not schemes of conquest or aggrandize- 
ment, those sources of long and bloody wars and 
national misery, but with the integrity, firmness, 
and impartial policy of an honest individual, deals 
justly, openly, and equally with all. In a word, 
liberty unites and consolidates the whole powers, 
moral and physical, of society, by making the public 
will and the public good the great rule of her conduct, 
and the object of all her proceedings. 

Such, gentlemen, is the nature and value of liberty. 
May its benevolent principles animate every bosom. 
May its friends, wherever situated, be for ever 
victorious. May its enemies in every country be 
effectually converted, or covered with everlasting 
shame and confusion; and soon may that great 
millennium arrive when the mighty genius of liberty, 
standing on the earth and ocean of this vast globe, 
the abode of such innumerable millions, shall breathe 
out the solemn and determined vow of the whole hit- 
man race, that tyranny shall be no longer. 

To promote this great event, which, according to 
the whole tenor of sacred prophecy, and, indeed, from 
present appearances, seems fast approaching, you, 
gentlemen, and your fellow-citizens, as freemen, and 
as Americans, are to be no unconcerned spectators. 
Hitherto you have acted a most distinguished part 
in this grand effort of mankind to rescue themselves 
from tyranny. Eirst in the glorious career of nations 
you have shown what liberty can do. Your example 
and your unparalleled prosperity has aroused and 
animated distant nations. On you, and on this your 
great fabric of liberty, are the eyes of every people 
on earth directed. On your success in this grand 
experiment of representative government — on your 
established greatness and rising glory, the destinies 
of mankind — the liberties of the world are suspended. 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 391 

You have acquired, it is now your great business to 
preserve and perpetuate to posterity this invaluable 
treasure. 

What would you think of that farmer who should 
bestow the greatest labour in cultivating his fields, 
and yet pay no regard to his fences — take no pains 
to prevent the inroads and destruction made among 
his harvests ? what would you think of the inhabitants 
of that city, who, though in continual danger of be- 
ing attacked by a cruel enemy, should yet let their 
gates stand open, and their walls go to ruin ? Liberty 
is this strong fence, that protects and secures to you 
the fruits of your labour. Liberty is that wall, those 
gates and ramparts, that surround and defend you 
from the merciless fury of tyranny, who for ever raves 
around them, bellowing for entrance, and thirsting 
for blood. It is, therefore, your deepest interest, as 
well as duty, to be vigilant and watchful of the 
motions and designs of this prowling enemy of your 
peace, your prosperity, religion, and happiness. 
Acquaint yourselves minutely with the true principles 
of liberty, on which the different state governments, 
and your great federal compact is founded. Kead 
books of authentic history and travels. They will 
inform you of the fatal consequences of the loss of 
liberty to the different nations of the world. Contrast 
the want and wretchedness experienced by your 
fellow creatures in other countries, with the peace, 
plenty and felicity you enjoy in this. Kemember, 
that for all these, under Providence, you are indebted 
to liberty. — Infuse these ideas into your children. 
Cultivate their minds, and enlarge their understand- 
ings by education and reading. Set before them, in 
your own persons, examples of firm patriotism and 
genuine piety. Inure them to habits of industry, 
economy and virtue, love of country, and gratitude 
to the Great Giver of all good. Then may the storms 

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392 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

of aristocracy roar, and the fury of foreign or do- 
mestic enemies swell and rage around you. Your 
liberty, founded on this immoveable rock, its struc- 
ture adorned, and its energy directed by that in- 
corruptible republican, who, on this ever-memorable 
day, has ascended into the chair of state, shall roll 
back all their meditated mischief on their own heads, 
and your country rise in strength, grandeur, and 
prosperity — the seat of learning and of arts — the 
abode of plenty and of peace — the asylum of the 
persecuted, and the pride and glory of the world. 
Is this hope great and elevating ? Who, then, that 
so lately beheld the surrounding glooms of aristocracy 
descending in dismal darkness, and threatening to 
blast and bury for ever from our view this glorious 
prospect — what republican, I say, who eyed with a 
throbbing and indignant heart, the evil genius of 
despotism breaking into this our western paradise, 
to plunge us into a world of woe, who feels not now 
a flood of joy swell his overflowing heart on this 
triumphant day, at the defeat and expulsion of this 
arch-fiend, and the universal overthrow of his fallen 
associates. The majesty of the people arose, and 
their enemies were hurled to the regions of despair 
and ignominy. The clouds are now dispersing — the 
prospect brightens with more splendour than ever, 
and every patriotic heart welcomes this happy era. 



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LETTERS. 

The following Letters of Wilson have been here printed, as the 
first attempt to collect his epistolary writings, and in hopes of 
being the means of causing some future editor to gather together 
his now scattered productions of this description, and give to the 
world a complete edition of his highly interesting and valuable 
epistles. If his whole correspondence and Journals were pub- 
lished, they would show a volume of Letters, equal in merit to 
any work of the same kind, and would greatly enrich that pecu- 
liar class of English literature; and at the same time, rear a 
classic monument of literary compositions second to his great 
work — the American Ornithology— and thereby considerably in- 
crease his fame. They present the best and most faithful pictures 
of the mind and career of their gifted author, told in his own 
poetic language, sometimes beautiful and sublime, and may be 
considered as his own biography, written in the most powerful 
and graphic manner conceivable. 



TO MR. DAVID BRODIE. a 

Edinburgh, Nov. 10, 1789. 

Dear Sir, — Among the many and dismal ingre- 
dients that embitter the cup of life, none affect the 
feelings or distress the spirit, so deeply as despon- 
dence. She is the daughter of disappointed hope, 
and the mother of gloomy despair, the source of 
every misery, and the channel to eternal ruin. 
Happy, thrice happy the man, whose breast is for- 
tified against her insinuations, and towers above her 
tyranny. But, alas ! what heart has not sunk beneath 
her melancholy frowns. To be snatched from the 
yawning jaws of ruin, raised on the wings of hope to 
the delightful fields of bliss and felicity — to have the 
enchanting prospect before us, or within our grasp, 
and in these flattering circumstances to be cruelly 
insulted, and unmercifully precipitated down the 
unfathomable gulf, is what would bring a sigh from 
the most insensible and hardened wretch in the uni- 

a This confidential friend, it appears, had encouraged Wilson 
in his earliest poetical efforts. 

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394 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

verse. How much more then must it agonize that 
individual who trembles at the least prospect of dis- 
order or misfortune. In every age the poet has 
been allowed to be possessed of finer feelings and 
quicker sensations than the bulk of mankind. To 
him joy is rapture, and sorrow despair : the least 
beam of hope brightens, and the slightest shades 
horrify his tumultuous soul. Imagination points out 
the approaching storm, and anticipates that wretch- 
edness which it thinks is impossible to be avoided. 
If such their state, may Heaven guard me from the 
wretched tribe. But what do I say ? I have been 
hurried on by the irresistible tide of inclination 
until now, and at this moment I find myself en- 
rolled among those very wretches, and a sharer of 
these express torments at which I start. Oh, my 
friend! why did you awake that spark of genius 
which has now overspread my soul. Your smile 
called it to existence, and your approbation inspired 
its gathering flame. How greedily did I devour the 
tempting bait. Every look of applause lifted me a 
stage, till I gained the highest pinnacle of hope and 
expectation ; and how dreadful my fall ! Happy 
would I have been, had I scorned the offered incense 
of praise, and been deaf, resolutely deaf, to the be- 
witching accents ; then had I still been buried in the 
dark cobweb recesses of some solitary hut, launch- 
ing the murmuring shuttle, or guiding the slender 
thread ; all my care a trifle to satisfy my landlady, 
and all my joy John's grim-like smile [a well 
known manufacturer in Paisley at that time] ; and 
my highest hope, a good web. Transporting thought ! 
" delightful period." These were the times of joy 
and plenty, the reign of uninterrupted content. 
Were they ? Ha ! where is my mistaken fancy run- 
ning ? " The reign of content, the times of plenty." 
Conscience denies the lying assertion, and experience 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 395 

shakes her expressive head. She says, no such times 
were they — toil was thy abhorrence. Want hovered 
over thy loom, and poverty stalked with thee as thy 
shadow. True, my faithful guide, — true is your 
accusation. I own I grovelled in obscurity; no 
hopes to inspire, no muse to soothe my struggling 
breast, till you, my dear friend, saw the glimmering 
spark, blew it to a flame, and rescued the buried 
muse from oblivion. How often has she soothed 
my troubled mind, and enabled me to breathe my 
melancholy plaints, dissolved me to joy, or swelled 
me to raptures, — and shall I blame you for this. 
No, my dear sir, your name inspires her theme, 
and her best services shall be at your feet. 

Since I left Paisley, I have met with some en- 
couragement, but I assure you, sir, that my occu- 
pation is greatly against my success in collecting 
subscribers. A packman is a character which none 
esteem, and almost every one despises. The idea 
which people of all ranks entertain of them is, that 
they are mean-spirited, loquacious liars, cunning 
and illiterate, watching every opportunity, and using 
every low and mean art within their power to cheat. 
When any one applies to a genteel person, pretend- 
ing to be a poet, he is treated with ridicule and con- 
tempt ; and even though he should produce a speci- 
men, it is either thrown back again, without being 
thought worthy of perusal, or else read with preju- 
dice. I find also that a poet's fame is his wealth. 
Of this the booksellers to whom I applied with pro- 
posals have complained, saying, "it was a pity I 
was not better known." I think, therefore, it Avill 
be my best scheme to collect the manuscripts in an 
orderly manner, and send them to some gentleman 
for correction. Since I saw you, I have finished 
several pieces in English verse, particularly a poem 
entitled "Lochwinnoch," in which I hope I have 



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398 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

drawn the character of Mr. M'D. b so as to please 
you, and perhaps himself, yet after all, you cannot 
conceive the diffiulties which at present involve, 
Dear Sir, 

Your humble servant, 
ALEX. WILSOK 



TO MR. THOMAS CRICHTON, PAISLEY. 

Tower of Auchinbothie, Sept. 1790. 

Dear Friend, — It undoubtedly requires a greater 
degree of fortitude, and a firmer constitution, for a 
feeling mind to struggle with adversity, and it is 
often their lot. Under the pressure of virtuous mis- 
fortunes, thousands pine in secret, till disease settles 
on their frame, and consumes the little of life they 
have left; while others are unhappy only in the 
eyes of the world. Blessed with hearts unsuscepti- 
ble of feeling the past, or fearing the future, they 
only endure the present sufferings, which hope dis- 
sipates with endearing smiles and ceaseless promises. 
A sensibility under misfortune gives every new dis- 
tress innumerable stings, but when once hope takes 
her residence in the heart, their numbers diminish, 
their terrors disappear, and, though under real suffer- 
ing for the present, we forget them in the anticipation 
of the future scenes of approaching happiness. 

Such, my dear Sir, are the thoughts that for ever 
revolve through my breast, — such the melancholy 
reflections of one lost to every beam of hope, — and 
such, amid the most dismal, the most complicated 
horrors of distress. Driven by poverty and disease 
to the solitudes of retirement, at the same period 
when the flush of youth, the thirst of fame, the ex- 

b Mr. M'Dougal, a gentleman then residing near Lochwinnoch, 
to whom Wilson dedicated his second edition, and some verses. 

This letter was written after he had traversed a part of his 
native country for subscribers to the first edition of his poems. 



© 







MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 397 

pected applause of the world, and the charms of am- 
bition Avelcomed him to the field. Had I but one 
hope more left of enjoying life and health, methinks 
I could cheerfully suffer the miseries that now sur- 
round me ; but, alas, I feel my body decay daily, my 
spirits and strength continually decrease, and some- 
thing within tells me that dissolution, dreadful dis- 
solution, is not far distant. No heart can conceive 
the terrors of those who tremble under the appre- 
hension of death. This increases their love of life, 
and every new advance of the King of Terrors over- 
whelms them with despair. How hard, how difficult, 
how unhappy to prepare for eternity; and yet how 
dreadful to live or to die unprepared. Oh, that I 
were enabled to make it my study to interest myself 
in His favour, who has the keys of Hell and of Death. 
Then all the vanities of life would appear what they 
really are, and the shades of death would brighten 
up a glorious path to everlasting mansions of felicity. 

My dear Sir, you will no doubt be surprised to 
hear me talk in this manner, but are not you more 
surprised that you found me so long a stranger to 
these things. They are the sincere effusions of my 
soul ; and I hope, that through the divine aid, they 
shall be my future delight, whether health shall 
again return, or death has lifted the commissioned 
dart. 

My health is in a very declining state. The sur- 
geon believes my disease to be an inflammaticn of the 
lungs. I intend to stay sometime longer in the 
country, and to hear from you would be acceptable 
to the unfortunate 

ALEX. WILSON. 

P.S. — Excuse this shift for want of paper,* and 

a " The above letter," says Crichton, "was written on an old 
leaf of paper, torn from a book of accounts, ruled with red lines 
for money columns." 






398 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

direct to me, care of Yfiiiiam Ewing, Innkeeper, 
Lochwinnoch, who will get your letter conveyed to 
me, or write by the bearer, who returns to-morrow. 



Since the foregoing sheets were in the press, this friend and 
biographer of the poet, has "paid the debt of nature." The 
following excellent article, describing his remarkable death, 
appeared in the " Renfrewshire Advertiser" of Nov. 23, 1844. 

We cannot allow the sudden departure of this venerable man 
to be the subject of announcement merely in the lists of an 
obituary, or in the chyonicle of passing events. Mr. Crichton 
has been long a justly esteemed citizen of the community of 
Paisley. He held an important office in connexion with one of 
our municipal institutions, the duties of which he discharged 
faithfully for the long period of half a century. His career has 
been marked by a course of humble, unobtrusive, and un- 
ostentatious usefulness ; and he has been gathered to his fathers 
like a shock of corn when it is ripe. 

Mr. Crichton was born in Paisley, of reputable parents, on 
January 7th, 1761. His profession was that of a teacher of 
youth, and all his labours in this most useful department, were 
subordinated to the great end of imbuing the young mind with 
the seeds of moral and religious principle. He was elected 
master of the Town's. ; Hospital in July, 1791. He became an 
elder in the Middle Church parish in 1798 ; and was chosen 
Session Clerk to the High parish in 1805. At the time of his 
death, he was the senior elder of ail the Presbyterian denomi- 
nations in Paisley ; and as the father of the Free Middle Church 
Session, he was honoured to lay the foundation stone, a few 
months ago, of the church of that congregation ; an edifice 
which he just lived to see completed, and at the opening of 
which, on Friday se'nnight, he was enabled to be present, and 
with feelings of no common interest engaged in the services. 
Although he had almost completed his 84th year, he enjoyed 
no ordinary measure of health both in body and mind, and his 
death on Monday last [18th November] was really a translation. 
Oq the afternoon of that day, his minister, the Rev. Mr. For- 
rester, had conversed with him for an hour. The main sub- 
ject of the conversation was his favourite topic, the history 
and statistics of the town ; and he was remarkably lively and 
cheerful. Shortly after Mr. Forrester left him, he was em- 
ployed in copying some poetical pieces of his own composition, 
when the pen suddenly dropped from his hand ; he lay back 
iu his easy chair, and instantly expired. The lines which he 
had written were as follows : — 



MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 399 

" Isaiah, Judah's bard, in strains sublime, 
Shall gain new glories through revolving time. 
The fate of empires hear the prophet sing, 
The matchless glories of th' Eternal King ; 
And guide the darken' d mind to radiant light, 
Beyond all earthly splendour, glo ..." 

Here the trace of the falling pen is drawn across the paper, 
as it dropped from the writer's fingers. A slight moan indicated 
to his wife and daughter something unusual. They were in a 
moment at his side, but all was over. The pen, it was found, 
had stopped in the middle of the word " glory," near the termi- 
nation of the line, and a faint diagonal scratch along the paper 
indicates the course which it assumed, after the hand that held 
it became incapable of action. A smile rested on his face, and 
he seemed as one softly asleep. 

Mr. Crichton was a person of considerable literary attain- 
ments and habits. Possessing a sound understanding, and a 
remarkably retentive memory, he was singularly fond of read- 
ing, and he thus laid up in store large masses of useful informa- 
tion, which he was ever ready to communicate. He had a 
particular fondness for the productions of the British bards ; 
and he was the author of several poetical pieces of considerable 
merit. In the periodicals of the day, particularly the Scots 
Magazine, and the Edinburgh Christian Instructor, he wrote a 
variety of useful articles ; and his biographical accounts of 
Dr. Witherspoon, Dr. Snodgrass, and Dr. Findlay, are exceed- 
ingly interesting and valuable. With the eminent person at 
the head of this list he was personally acquainted, and no topics 
interested and delighted him so much as those connected with 
the career of that illustrious president of New Jersey College 
in America. A few years ago, Dr. Ashbel Green, the suc- 
cessor of Witherspoon in the college, and now the father of the 
American Presbyterian Church, applied to Mr. Crichton, 
through a friend in Glasgow, for information regarding him 
with the view of a more extended life than had yet appeared. 
Mr. Crichton supplied ample materials for this purpose ; and 
when Dr. Burns was lately in Philadelphia, the venerable Dr. 
Green inquired of him particularly about his much respected 
correspondent, and sent him Ins kind remembrances. 

On all subjects connected with the management of the poor, 
Mr. Crichton was well informed, and his views were peculiarly 
judicious and sound. On various occasions he furnished most 
accurate and useful information for different statistical works 
on the subject. He was not a man of theory, and having no 
peculiar system of opinions to maintain, he contributed at all 
times from his store of knowledge those facts, and those facts 
only, which form the elements of system, and its only sure 
basis. 



400 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

He was the intimate friend of Alexander Wilson, whose un- 
friended and misdirected genius promised, during the early part 
of his career, nothing of that lustre which encircles the name of 
the great American ornithologist. In the biographical accounts 
that have been published of that remarkable man, Mr. Crichton 
furnished not a few epistolary contributions, together with vari- 
ous sketches of character, and reminiscences of local events. 

In private life, and in the discharge of his various official 
duties, Mr. Crichton uniformly maintained a character of Chris- 
tian excellence. He was humble, pious, and devout. His un- 
obtrusive modesty made him shrink from the public gaze. In 
the political vortex he was never once caught ; and in religion, 
he had far more of the retired practical believer than of the pole- 
mical controversialist. But his doctrinal views were clear, steady, 
and consistent, and his position latterly, as an adherent of the 
Free Church, was the result of the soundest and most decided 
conviction. For some|years past he had retired almost wholly 
from public occupation, and calm and serene, he waited for the 
summons of removal. His affectionate partner in life, his child- 
ren, and his children's children, mourn the loss of a revered 
sire ; but they mourn amid the blessedness of hope. He has 
finished his career without one stain upon his character ; and of 
him, as a man of real worth in the retired vale of useful life, 
there can be but one opinion, and that a highly favourable one, 
throughout an extended and discerning community. 



TO MR. THOMAS CRICHTON. 

Haddington, Nov. 2, 1790. 

Dear Friend, — I have no doubt, but by this time, 
you are anxious to hear what has become of me; and 
as I am at present disengaged, and have experienced 
much of your sympathy, I shall not think my time 
altogether lost, to inform you of my situation — not 
that I can cheerfully assure you, that all my miseries 
are sunk in oblivion, and all my sorrows vanished 
like a vision. JS r o, alas! that happy period, that 
long-looked-for time has not yet arrived, but my 
miseries seem lengthening with life. I look upon 
myself as a traveller, who, fond of variety, has left 
the beaten road, to explore the recesses of some 
wood, whose tempting borders had drawn him from 
his way. Eager to contemplate the surrounding 

© :-.-■== -= _-_ r. . -: ©| 



MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 401 

scenes, and captivated by the gaudy flowers that 
every where bsnd "beneath his feet, he wanders on 
forgetful of his journey, hunts through every new 
thicket, rushes through the thickening shade, till at 
length he finds himself involved amid a labyrinth of 
perplexing branches and harassing brambles. For- 
ward, ten thousand distresses present themselves, 
and backward, he is unable to trace his path. Night 
approaches, the tempest roars among the trees, and 
the relentless savages of the forest howl around the 
distressed wretch, who now, too late, sees his folly, 
and reflects with a tear on those happy times when 
he cheerfully pursued his journey. 

In this poetical wood am I at this moment lost. 
There, the brambles and briers of poverty harass, 
and there is heard the growl of creditors! Oh 
that I could roll back the tide of time, and place 
myself in the same circumstances I was a few years 
ago. Then all the charms of fame, the insinuations 
of ambition, the applause, renown, and admiration 
of the world, would in vain display their united 
glories to tempt me to one line of verse. But you 
will perhaps say, Why do you not adopt this laud- 
able design, and put it in immediate practice? 
Alas ! Sir, I fear I cannot, and this alone makes me 
tremble. From repeated experience, I can solemnly 
declare, that I have found poetry, however pleasing 
and delightful for the present moment, to be pro- 
ductive of nameless miseries, and in reality the 
source of all my sorrows. It has consumed much 
of my fleeting time, that might have been employed 
to unspeakably better purposes in actions and 
cessary designs, that would have secured me the 
esteem of my friends, and conveyed pleasure in the 
reflection. By diverting my mind from the essential 
interests of life, it has plunged me into the depths of 
poverty, there solitary to languish, pined by the bitter 



i 



®^-=^====== ^ — = — - =• © 

402 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

reflection of being my own destroyer. In a word, it 
has sunk me in sickness, in debt, in disappointment, 
and in all the gloom of despondence ; has embittered 
the comforts of life, and veiled from my view all the 
hopes of religion. And shall I still attend its dic- 
tates? Shall I nourish this deluding phantom, this 
murdering enchantress in my bosom. No, Heaven 
forbid. The smiles, the promises of hope, shall 
never again deceive me, since all these once-expected 
laurels of fame and honour, and the treasures of 
wealth are as distant from my view as ever. Let 
me therefore learn to despise them all ; for what are 
all their glories but shadows, bubbles, and poisonous 
potions that corrupt the heart, disorder the judg- 
ment, and continually blast, and for ever banish 
that inestimable and best of blessing, peace of mind. 
But where am I going, I sat down to give you an 
account of my present situation, but have distressed 
you with a melancholy detail of my past misfortunes. 
Pardon the digression, my dear friend, and consider 
that it is to the friend alone, that the burthened 
heart ventures to pour forth its sorrows. You 
know, the little success I received in Paisley, made 
me tremble to think in what manner I should re- 
veal my unfortunate circumstances to Mr. Neilson. 
To leave the place without making any apology for 
the past, or explanation of the method I intended to 
follow for the future, would, I considered, justly 
expose me to his displeasure and suspicion, and also 
be highly ungrateful in return for all that kindness 
he had all along shown me. I therefore went and 
explained matters as they stood, with the deepest 
regret for being unable to give him any money aris- 
ing from the few copies I had sold. His goodness I 
shall never forget. He freely excused me on account 
of the circumstances in which I had been placed ; 
but recommended it to me, to be industrious in get- 

ii 

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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 403 

ting the rest disposed of, and that from whatever 
place I sent for copies, he would remit them. This 
was kind, exceeding kind; but, alas! where was I to 
dispose of them ? However, necessity urging, I gave 
my landlord one guinea, and an account, which I 
hope, by this time, has produced him another; and 
taking leave of all my friends, departed from the 
confines of that town, where in the short space of 
seven months, I had experienced all the combined 
horrors of sickness, poverty, and despondence. In 
two days I arrived at Edinburgh, and immediately 

paid Mr. a visit. Unwilling to be looked upon 

as a burthensome guest, I hired a small room in the 
other end of the town, and five or six times a-day, 
(by desire) attended this elevated gentleman's levee. 
To give you a particular account of the distant and 
strange reception I met with from this quarter 
would be unnecessary. After staying two weeks, 

Mr. all on a sudden told me, that he meant to 

take a jaunt through part of Scotland with goods, 
and invited me to assist him. To this I immediately 
consented, in expectation of selling my books. We 
have already been in Dalkieth, Musselburgh, and 
Prestonpans, and are come to this place, and although 
I have used every scheme I could invent, none seem 
to regard the author or encourage his performance. 
How long I will continue in this state is uncertain. 
When at leisure write me, and you shall not fail in 
return, to hear from the most unfortunate of poets, 
pedlars, and men, who, notwithstanding, is with the 
most sincere esteem, 

Your affectionate friend, while 

ALEX. WILSON. 



I 



^® 



404 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

TO MR. ALEXANDER WILSON, PAISLEY. 

[This letter, alluded to in the life, narrates his passage to the 
New World.] 

Philadelphia, United States, 
July 25, 1794. 

Dear Father and Mother, — You will see by 
this letter that I am at length in America, as is also 
my nephew, William Duncan — both in good health. 
We sailed in the ship " Swift," from Belfast Loch, 
on Friday the 23rd of May, about six in the morn- 
ing, at which time I would have wrote you ; but, 
hoping we would have a speedy passage, and feeling 
for the anxiety I feared you might be under in 
knowing we were at sea, I purposely omitted writ- 
ing till our arrival in America. I fear that by this 
conduct I have given you more unhappiness than I 
am aware of; if I have, I hope you will forgive me, 
for I intended otherwise. We had 350 passengers — 
a mixed multitude of men, women, and children. 
Each berth between decks was made to hold them 
all, with scarce a foot for each. At first sight 1 
own, it appeared to me almost impossible that one 
half of them could survive ; but, on looking around, 
and seeing some whom I thought not much stouter 
than myself, I thought I might have a chance as 
well as the rest of some of them. I asked Willy if 
he was willing, and he saying he was, we went up 
to Belfast immediately for our clothes ; and on two 
days after we got on board, she sailed. We were 
very sick four days, but soon recovered ; and having 
a good, steady, fair breeze for near a fortnight, had 
hopes of making an excellent voyage. On the third 
day, and just as we lost sight of land, we spoke the 
Caledonia of Greenock, a letter of marque, bound 
for the Bay of Fundy ; on Monday following, Dr. 
Keynolds, who was tried and condemned by the 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 405 

Irish House of Lords, was discovered to be on board, 
and treated all the passengers and crew with rum- 
grog, which we drank to the confusion of despots, 
and the prosperity of liberty all the world over. 
Till the 17th of June we had pretty good weather, 
and only buried an old woman and two children. 
On the 18th, we fell in with an amazing number of 
islands of ice ; I counted at one time thirty-four in 
sight, some of whom that we nearly passed was 
more than twice as high as our main-top gallant 
mast-head, and of great extent : we continued pass- 
ing among them, with a good breeze, for two days, 
during which time we run at least five knots an hour. 
On the 20th we had a storm of wind, rain, thunder, 
and lightning, beyond any thing I had ever witnessed. 
Next day a seaman dropped overboard ; and, though 
he swam well, and made for the ship, yet the sea 
running high, and his clothes getting wet, he per- 
ished within six yards of a hen-coop, which Ave had 
thrown over to him. On the 11th July, we could 
plainly perceive land from the mast-head; but a 
terrible gale of wind blowing all night from the 
shore, it was Sunday before we had again the satis- 
faction of seeing it, scarcely perceptible through the 
fog ; but a pilot coming on board, and the sun rising, 
we found ourselves within the Capes of the Dela- 
ware — the shore on land having the appearance of 
being quite flat, and only a complete forest of trees. 
About seven at night, having had a good breeze all 
day, we cast anchor at a place called Eeedy Island, 
where one of the cabin passengers, and the first man 
who leapt ashore in the long-boat, was drowned in 
returning to the ship. We arrived at Newcastle 
next day about mid-day, where we were all as happy 
as mortals could be; and being told that Wilmington 
was only five miles up the river, we set out on foot 
through a flat woody country, that looked in every 






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406 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS 

respect like a new world to us, from the great pro- 
fusion of fruit that every where overhung our heads, 
the strange birds, shrubs, &c, and came at length 
to Wilmington, which lies on the side of a hill, about 
a mile from the Delaware, and may be about as large 
as Renfrew, or perhaps larger. We could hear of 
no employment here in our business, though I saw 
two silk looms going, and some jennies preparing 
for establishing some manufactory of cotton cloth ; 
but they proceed with so little spirit, that I believe 
it may be some years before half-a-dozen of looms 
can be employed. From Wilmington we proceeded 
to Philadelphia, twenty-nine miles distant, where 
very little of the ground is cleared ; the only houses 
we saw were made of large logs of wood, laid one 
over another; and what crops we could see, consisted 
of Indian corn, potatoes, and some excellent oats. 
We made free to go into a good many farm-houses 
on the road, but saw none of that kindness and hos- 
pitality so often told of them. We met with three 
weavers by the way, who live very quiet and well 
enough, but had no place for any of us. At length 
we came within sight of Philadelphia, which lies 
something like Glasgow, but on a much flatter piece 
of ground, extending in breadth along the Delaware 
for near three miles. Here we made a more vigor- 
ous search than ever for weavers, and found, to our 
astonishment, that, though the city contains between 
forty and fifty thousand people, there is not twenty 
weavers among the whole, and these had no conve- 
niencies for journeymen, nor seemed to wish for 
any ; so after we had spent every farthing we had, 
and saw no hopes of any thing being done that way, 
we took the first offer of employment we could find, 
and have continued so since. 

The weather here is so extremely hot, that, even 
though writing in an open room, and dressed, ac- 



(2) 



MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 407 

cording to the custom, in nothing but thin trowsers 
and waistcoat, and though it is near eleven at night, 
I am wet with sweat. Judge, then, what it must 
be at noon, with all kinds of tradesmen that come 
to this country, none with less encouragement than 
weavers ; and those of that trade would do well to 
consider first, how they would agree with the spade 
or wheelbarrow under the almost intolerable heat of 
a scorching sun. I fear many of them never think 
of these. Necessities of life are here very high, 
owing to the vast number of emigrants from St. 
Domingo and France. Flour, though you will scarce 
believe it, is near double the price to what it is in 
Scotland ; beef, ninepence of their currency, which 
is about sixpence of ours ; shoes, two dollars ; and 
boarding in the most moderate houses, two dollars 
and a-half ; while house -rents are most exorbitantly 
high. I was told yesterday, by a j)erson who had 
come immediately from Washington, that that city 
does not contain above two dozen of houses, and if 
it come not faster on than they have done, it wont 
contain a thousand inhabitants these twenty years. 
As we passed through the woods on our way to 
Philadelphia, I did not observe one bird such as 
those in Scotland, but all much richer in colour. 
We saw a great number of squirrels, snakes about a 
yard long, and red birds, several of which I shot for 
our curiosity. 

Let John Findlayson know that I dined with his 
brother-in-law, James Robertson, and spent three 
hours in the woods with him near his own house; I 
was sorry there were some things I could not inform 
him of, but he will hear from himself soon. He lives 
in a very agreeable place, not far from where I was 
directed to seek him ; keeps a cow, and has a decent 
family of children, the oldest girl may be about thir- 
teen, or more : he is very fond that one of us should 






408 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

come and work with him, as he has three looms, 
and only one hand beside himself, — and I believe 
Willy will go there next week. I offer my best 
wishes to Thomas Wotherspoon and wife, and would 
write to him, but the ship sails early to-morrow. I 
have wrote to both my brothers-in-law, and I hope 
you will write me as soon as possible, as I am uneasy 
to hear if you are both well, or if you have lately heard 
any word from Rob., as it is reported here that 
Howe and the French fleet have had an engagement. 
I am sorry I have so little room — I beg once more 
you will write to me soon, and direct to the care of 
Mr. William Young, Bookseller, Chesnut Street, 
Philadelphia. And wishing you both as much hap- 
piness as this world can afford, I remain, 

Your affectionate son, 

ALEX. WILSON. 



TO MR. ALEXANDER WILSON, PAISLEY. 

Milestown, Bristol Township, Philadelphia County, 
August 22, 1798. 

Dear Father, — If I were to judge of my friends 
in Scotland by their cold silence to all my letters 
these two years, I might perhaps wrong them, but 
I will be more generous with them, and conclude 
that they have all wrote me ten or twelve times 
a -piece, and all miscarried; so now we are on good 
terms again, and I shall write this with as real good 
will to their amusement as if I had received them 
all. This is the most unwholesome and sultry sea- 
son in the western woody world. For two months 
the heat has been intense, the thermometer at noon 
in the shade always above 90, sometimes 96, and at 
one time 101, which is three degrees above blood- 
heat. The consequence has been that the Yellow 
Fever — that American pestilence — has broke out in 
Philadelphia with great mortality, and the inhabi- 
tants are flying to the country in all directions. 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 409 

But a still worse scourge is likely to fall on us 
soon — that monstrous mother of almost every human 
evil, War. — The French Directory, by their dishon- 
ourable conduct towards us, have utterly lost the 
esteem and good wishes of the Americans, and have, 
by their threatenings, raised such a spirit of union and 
military order among all our citizens, and such a con- 
tempt for the French rulers, that nothing but their 
return to the principles of justice and true liberty, 
and restoration of our plundered property, will ever 
do away. Ships of war are building in every seaport, 
and every merchant vessel is armed. We can raise 
in two days an army of two hundred thousand foot 
and cavalry, and our internal resources of provisions, 
arms, and ammunition are inexhaustible. Yet I 
sincerely deplore the coming calamity. Gainers or 
losers, the effects of war are ruinous. It corrupts 
the morals of youth, and disseminates every species 
of vice over the countries wherever it goes. But 
indeed it is needless to spend the little time we have 
in thinking on the badness of the times, for I am per- 
suaded while the world remains there will be tyrants 
and freemen, reformers and revolutionists, peace and 
war, till the end of time ; and he is only the wise 
and happy man who, in following a peaceful employ- 
ment through private life, intermeddles with politics 
as little as possible. Provisions have fallen greatly 
here within these twelve months, so have the wages 
of labour. Our crops of wheat almost universally 
failed, owing to the Hessian fly, and in many places 
the buck- wheat and clover have been stripped and 
eat u\) by the grasshoppers, a circumstance never 
remembered to have happened, and looked on by the 
country people as an omen of some great calamity. 
I hope, however, that the greatest will be in the loss 
of grain. I walked through a field last evening, where 
at every step they rose in thousands. 
2 a 3 



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410 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

The family where I have boarded in nearly these 
three years, and two- thirds of the inhabitants, axe 
Germans, a hardy, sober, industrious, and penurious 
race of people, lovers of money, and haters of Irish- 
men — the very sound of an Irishman's voice will 
make a Dutchman draw down his eyebrows, gather 
up his pockets, and shrink into himself like a tortoise. 
Their religion is a mixture of Presbyterianism, Uni- 
versalism, and Catholic; very ignorant of books, and 
very superstitious ; firm believers in astrology and 
necromancy. Many of them will neither kill a steer, 
let blood, cut hair, or draw a tooth, but in a parti- 
cular time of the moon. All their cures are per- 
formed by charms and spells, and the greatest confi- 
dence is placed on the most ridiculous forms, words, 
and gibberish. I thought that the Highlands of Scot- 
land might challenge any place on earth for witches, 
ghosts, and supernatural agency, but those of our 
neighbourhood are ten times more knowing, more 
numerous, and more obliging. Before I could con- 
verse with them in their own language, or read their 
books, I could not have believed them or any people 
so credulous, but I have read in some of their books 
such stuff as would make the gravest philosopher on 
earth laugh at their notions. However, they are 
sober and very punctual in their payments, and have 
of late began to be very careful in educating their 
children in the English language, and I have always 
experienced much kindness and esteem from them. 

I should be happy, dear parents, to hear from you, 
and how my brother and sisters are. I hope David 
will be a good lad, and take his father's advice in 
every difficulty. If he does I can tell him he will 
never repent it. If he does not, he may regret it 
bitterly with tears. This is the advice of a brother 
with whom he has not yet had time to be much 
acquainted, but who loves him sincerely. I should 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 411 

wish also that he would endeavour to improve him- 
self in some useful parts of learning, to read books 
of information and taste, without which a man in 
any country is but a clodpole, but beyond every 
thing else, let him indulge the deepest gratitude to 
God, and affectionate respect for his parents. J 
have thought it my duty, David, to recommend these 
amiable virtues to you, because I am your brother, 
and very probably may never see you. In the ex- 
perience I have had among mankind, I can assure 
you that such conduct will secure you many friends, 
and support you under your misfortunes, for if you 
live you must meet with them — they are the lot of 
life. 

Billy and Isabel were both well four days ago ; he 
is mowing, and Isabel has gone to the country with 
Mr. Dobson's family, till the sickness be over. 

I have observed that William Duncan has a strong 
desire to come to America, and I don't wonder at it. 
while so many of his children are here. Were I 
persuaded that my sister and him could reconcile 
their minds to be for ever removed from their native 
country, placed in a country where the language, 
customs, and employment were totally different, 
where a labourer who works under a broiling sun 
will perspire at the rate of two pints an hour ; I have 
seen Billy myself, while a-mowing, take off his shirt 
and wring it every two hours. I say where the lan- 
guage, the customs, and every thing that they had 
been so long accustomed to think right, would be 
laughed at, and they themselves looked on as un- 
known, and perhaps suspected strangers. — If they 
can reconcile themselves to these things, the great 
expense, and the uncertainty of the climate agree- 
ing with their constitutions, (for it has been, I fear, 
fatal to mine,) I shall not advise them against it. I 
hope that they will not look upon this as unkind in 

2a4 



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412 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

me. Whatever others may think, I have spoken my 
opinion most openly, and beg they will think on it- 
There is no employment that would suit him here so 
well as weaving, and having a cow for his family, or 
land sufficient to raise his bread, thirty or forty miles 
from Philadelphia, and if he and my sister are re- 
solved to attempt it, I doubt not but with health the 
boys and him might do very well. He, as well as 
my sister, will find two great assistants in their son 
and daughter, and nothing will be more rejoicing to 
me than to see them once more, and to give them all 
the assistance in my power. 

Dear parents, I request once more that you will 
write unto me by the earliest opportunity, that you 
will tell my old comrade, Thomas Wotherspoon, that 
I should be most happy to hear from him and Jean ; 
and remember me to William Duncan and John 
Bell, and to Mall and Jean, — to William M'Gavin 
and John Wright, my old bed-fellow, (I hear he has 
got a better one now,) — to John M' Arthur* to whom 
I have frequently wrote, without one line in return 
since Sept., '96, — to Wm. Greenlees and Eify, — most 
heartily to John Black and James Frazer ; James 
minds me of one of the priests — he is continually 
preaching up the glories of this new world to his 
neighbours, and sending them a-packing like so 
many pilgrims, but you'll never catch James on that 
journey himself. When did you hear from Robert 
Urie and Bell; I have heard nothing of either of the 
two since the action of the 1st June, '96. James 
Robb is well. Mr. Orr, of King's- street, writing- 
master, is well. I never could get the least intima- 
tion of the gentleman Mr. M'Gavin enquires for. I 
have not heard from James or William Mitchell 
these ten months. James Robertson and family 
are all well. 

I refer you for our political intelligence to your own 

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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 413 

newspapers. I am sorry to see such anarchy and blood- 
shed in Ireland. From Scotland I hear nothing. I 
have not seen it mentioned in the papers since the 
affair of Tranent. Every fresh piece of news from 
England is published here the moment it arrives, 
and flies from town to town with the rapidity of 
lightning ; we have sometimes news here in five 
weeks, and often in six from England, but all cor- 
respondence with France is suspended. Our fri- 
gates and sloops of war are at present out cruising 
in search of French privateers, but I have not heard 
of any prizes they have made except one. Our 
President, John Adams, is very popular at present. 
Washington has accepted the commission of com- 
mander-in-chief, and they talk of him with enthusi- 
asm as equal to an army of 100,000 ! This has 
always been the way of the people in all countries, 
and of those whom they have idolized, angels or 
devils — the saviours of their countrymen or arch- 
traitors. Who would pass one anxious thought for 
the possession of such precarious popularity ? I 
don't believe that Washington is one jot happier 
than I am, or than any poor man may be if he 
pleases. 

I must now bid you farewell, as my paper is al- 
most done. May Providence continue to bless you 
with health, peace, and content, and when the 
tragic-comic scene of life is over, may all meet in 
regions of bliss and immortality. 
I am till death, 

Dear Father, 
Your truly affectionate son, 

ALEX. WILSOK* 

a The persons mentioned in this letter are friends and relations 

of the poet. Billy— his nephew ; John Bell, William Duncan, 

and John Wright, his brothers-in-law. The latter two, with their 

families, went to America. Thomas Wotherspoon, William 

2 a 5 



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414 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

TO MR. WILLIAM BERTRAM. 

Nov. 20, 1803. 

Dear Sir, — I have attempted two of these prints 
which Miss Nancy, your niece, has so obligingly, 
and with so much honour to her own taste, selected 
for me. I was quite delighted with the Anemone, 
hut fear, I have made but bungling work of it. 
Such as they are, I send them for your inspection 
and opinion ; neither of them is quite finished. For 
your kind advice towards my improvement, I return 
my most grateful acknowledgments. 

The duty of my profession will not admit me to 
apply to this study, with the assiduity and perse- 
verance I could wish. Chief part of what I do is 
sketched by candle light, and for this, I am obliged 
to sacrifice the pleasures of social life, and the agree- 
able moments which I might enjoy in company with 
you, and your amiable friend. I shall finish the 
other sometime this week, and shall be happy, if 
what I have done, merit your approbation. 
Yours, 

ALEX. WILSON. 



TO MR. WILLIAM DUNCAN. 

[The following are extracts from letters addressed to his ne- 
phew, who was residing at the period in which they were written, 
on a farm, their joint property, in the State of New York. We 
regret that we cannot give them in full, for, says one of his 
American biographers, " No reader whose heart is in the right 
place, will be ever weary of these beautiful expressions of interest 
and affection" for the welfare of his relations. Their date is 
sometime before 1804, while he was teaching a school in Miles- 
town.] 

My dear Friend and" Nephew, — I wish you 
could find a leisure hour in the evening to give the 

Mitchell, and Charles Orr, writing-master, were friends, and to 
each of them Wilson addressed Epistles. Mr. M'Gavin, the 
author of the " Protestant," was likewise an intimate friend of 
the poet. 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 415 

children, particular y Mary, some instruction in 
reading, and Alexander, in writing and accounts. 
Don't be discouraged though they make but slow 
progress in both, but persevere a little every evening. 
I think you can hardly employ an hour at night to 
better purpose. And make James read every con- 
venient opportunity. If I live to come up beside 
you, I shall take that burden off your shoulders. 
Be the constant friend and counsellor of your little 
colony, to assist them in their difficulties, encourage 
them in their despondences, to make them as happy 
as circumstances will enable you. A mother, bro- 
thers, and sisters, in a foreign country, looking up to 
you as their best friend and supporter, places you 
in a dignified point of view. The future remem- 
brance of your kind duty to them now, will, in the 
hour of your own distress, be as a healing angel of 
peace to your mind. Do every thing possible to 
make your house comfortable , fortify the garrison 
in every point ; stop every crevice that may let in 
that chilling devil, the roaring, blustering north- 
west ; heap up fires big enough for an Indian war- 
feast; keep the flour-barrel full; bake loaves like 
the Hamels Head;* make the loom thunder, and the 
pot boil, and your snug little cabin re-echo nothing 
but sounds of domestic felicity. I will write you 
the moment I hear of George. I shall do every 
thing I have said to you, and never lose sight of the 
18th of March ; for which purpose I shall keep a 
night school this winter, and retain every farthing 
but what necessity requires — depend upon me. These 
are the outlines of my plan. If health stand it, all 
will be well ; if not, we cannot help it. * * 

I succeed tolerably well; and seem to gain in the 
esteem of the people about. I am glad of it, because 

a Name of the round top of a large rock, which stands in the 
river Cart, at the poet's birth-place, the Sandhills. 
2 B 



=€> 



416 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

I hope it will put it in my power to clear the road a 
little before you, and banish despondence from the 
heart of my dearest friend. Be assured that I will 
ever so cheerfully contribute to your relief in diffi- 
culties, as I will rejoice with you in prosperity — but 
we have nothing to fear. One hundred bushels of 
wheat, to be sure, is no great marketing ; but has it 
not been expended in the support of a mother, and 
infant brothers and sisters, thrown upon your bounty 
in a foreign country ? Eobert Burns, when the mice 
nibbled away his corn, said, 

" I'll get a blessing wi' the lave, 

And never miss't." 

Where he expected one, you may a thousand. Robin, 
by his own confession, ploughed up his mice out of 
"ha' and hame." You have built for your little 
wanderers a "cozie bield," where none dare molest 
them. There is much true greatness in the affec- 
tionate exertions which you have made for their 
subsistence and support, than the bloody catalogue 
of heroes can boast of. Your own heart will speak 
peace and satisfaction to you, to the last moment of 
your life, for every anxiety you have felt on their 
account. * * * 



• TO MR. LAWSON (A Fragment). 

March 12, 1804. 

I dare say you begin to think me very ungene- 
rous and unfriendly for not seeing you for so long a 
time. I will simply state the cause, and I know you 
will excuse me. Six days in a week, I have no more 
time than just to swallow my meals, and return to 
my sanctum sanctorum. Five days of the following 
week are occupied in the same routine of pedagogue- 
ing matters ; and the other two are sacrificed to that 
itch for drawing, which I caught from your honour- 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS 417 

able self. I never was more wishful to spend an 
afternoon with you. In three weeks I shall have a 
few days vacancy, and mean to be in town chief 
part of the time. I am most earnestly bent on pur- 
suing my plan of making a collection of all the birds 
in this part of North America. Now I don't want 
you to throw cold water, as Shakspeare says, on this 
notion, quixotic as it may appear. I have been so 
long accustomed to the building of airy castles and 
brain windmills, that it has become one of my earthly 
comforts ; a sort of rough bone that amuse me when 
sated with the dull drudgeries of life. 

TO MIL WILLIAM BERTRAM. 



Dear Sir, — I send for your amusement a few 
attempts at our indigenous birds, hoping that your 
good nature will excuse their deficiencies, while you 
point them out. They were chiefly coloured by 
candle-light. I have now got my collection of native 
birds considerably enlarged ; and shall endeavour, if 
possible, to obtain all the smaller ones this summer. 
Be pleased to mark on the drawings, with a pencil, 
the names of each bird ; as, except three or four, I 
do not know them. I shall be extremely obliged to 
you for every hint that will assist me in this agree- 
able amusement. I am very anxious to see the per- 
formances of your fair pupil ; and by you will assure 
her from me, that any of the birds I have are heart- 
ily at her service. Surely nature is preferable to 
copy after to the works of the best masters, though 
perhaps more difficult — for I declare that the face of 
an owl and the back of a lark have put me to a non- 
plus; and if Miss Nancy will be so obliging as to try 
her hand on the last mentioned, I will furnish her 
with one in good order, and will copy her drawing 
with the greatest pleasure, having spent almost a 



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418 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

week on two different ones, and afterwards destroyed 
them both, and got nearly into the Slough of De- 
spond. 

Yours, &c, 

ALEX. WILSON. 

TO MR. WILLIAM BERTRAM. 

May, 1804. 

Dear Sir, — I send you a few more imitations of 
birds for your opinion, which I value beyond that 
of any body else, though I am seriously apprehensive 
that I am troublesome. These are the last I shall 
draw for some time, as the employment consumes 
every leisure moment, leaving nothing for friendship 
or those rural recreations which I so much delight 
in. Even poetry, whose heavenly enthusiasm I used 
to glory in, can hardly ever find me at home, so 
much has this beautiful amusement engrossed all my 
senses. Please send me the names of the birds. I 
wish to draw a small flower, in order to represent 
the humming-bird in the act of feeding ; will you be 
so good as to send me one suitable, and not too large? 
The legs and feet of some are unfinished ; they are 
all miserably imperfect, but your generous candour 
I know to be beyond all defects. 
Yours, &c, 

ALEX. WILSON. 



TO MR. WILLIAM BERTRAM. 8 

1804. 

Dear Sir, — I take the first few moments I have 
had since receiving your letter, to thank you for 
your obliging attention to my little attempts at 

a " This letter is one of consolation addressed to his vener- 
able friend, under the pressure of a severe domestic calamity. 
It is written in a strain of eloquence and feeling, worthy of the 
pen of Burns, and free from his affectation." 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 419 

drawing ; and for the very affectionate expressions 
of esteem with which you honour me. But very 
sorry I am, indeed, that afflictions so severe as those 
you mention should fall where so much worth and 
sensibility reside, — while the profligate, the unthink- 
ing, and unfeeling, so frequently pass through life, 
strangers to sickness, adversity, and suffering. But 
God visits those with distress whose enjoyments he 
wishes to render more exquisite. The storms of af- 
fliction do not last for ever ; and sweet is the serene 
air and warm sunshine after a day of darkness and 
tempest. Our friend has, indeed, passed away in 
the bloom of youth and expectations ; but nothing 
has happened but almost every day's experience 
teaches us to expect. How many millions of beauti- 
ful flowers have flourished and faded under your 
eye ; and how often has the whole profusion of blos- 
soms, the hopes of a whole year, been blasted by an 
untimely frost. He has gone only a little before us; 
we must soon follow;— but while the feelings of 
nature cannot be repressed, it is our duty to bow 
with humble resignation to the decisions of the Great 
Father of all, rather receiving with gratitude the 
blessings he is pleased to bestow, than repining at 
the loss of those he thinks proper to take from us. 
Bat allow me, my dear friend, to withdraw your 
thoughts from so melancholy a subject ; since the 
best way to avoid the force of any overpowering 
passion, is to turn its direction another way. 

The lovely season is now approaching, when the 
gardens, woods, and fields, will again display their 
foliage and flowers. Every day we may expect 
strangers flocking from the south to fill our woods 
with harmony. The pencil of Nature is now at work, 
— and outlines, tints, and gradations of lights and 
shades that baffle all description, will soon be spread 
before us by that Great Master, our most benevolent 
2 b 2 



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420 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

friend and father. Let us cheerfully partake in the 
feast he is preparing for all our senses. Let us sur- 
vey those millions of green strangers just peeping 
into day, as so many happy messengers come to 
proclaim the power and the magnificence of the Cre- 
ator. I confess that I was always an enthusiast in 
my admiration of the rural scenery of nature ; but, 
since your example and encouragement have set me 
to attempt to imitate her productions, I see new 
beauties in every bird, plant, and flower I contem- 
plate ; and find my ideas of the incomprehensible 
first cause still more exalted, the more minutely I 
examine his works. I sometimes smile to think, that 
while others are immersed in deep schemes of specu- 
lation and aggrandizement, — in building towns and 
purchasing plantations, I am entranced in contem- 
plation over the plumage of a lark, or gazing like a 
despairing lover on the lineaments of an owl. While 
others are hoarding up their bags of money without 
the power of enjoying it, I am collecting without 
injuring my conscience, or wounding my peace of 
mind, those beautiful specimens of nature's works 
that are for ever pleasing. I have had live crows, 
hawks, and owls, — opossums, squirrels, snakes, liz- 
ards, &c, so that my room has sometimes reminded 
me of Noah's ark ; but Noah had a wife in one cor- 
ner of it, and in this particular our parallel does not 
altogether tally. I receive every subject of natural 
history that is brought to me, although they do not 
march into my ark from all quarters, as they did into 
that of our great ancestor ; yet I find means by the 
distribution of a few five-penny bits to make them 
find the way fast enough. A boy, not long ago, 
brought me a large basket full of crows. I expect 
his next load will be bull-frogs, if I don't soon issue 
orders to the contrary. One of my boys caught a 
mouse in school a few days ago, and directly marched 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 421 

up to me with his prisoner. I set about drowning it 
that same evening, and all the while the panting of 
its little heart showed it to be in the most extreme 
agonies of fear. I had intended to kill it, in order to 
fix it in the claws of a stuffed owl ; but happening 
to spill a few drops of water near where it was tied, 
it lapped up with such eagerness, and looked in my 
face with such an eye of supplicating terror as per- 
fectly overcame me. I immediately untied it, and 
restored it to life and liberty. The agonies of a pri- 
soner at the stake, while the fire and instruments of 
torment are preparing, could not be more severe 
than the sufferings of the poor mouse ; and insigni- 
ficant as the object was, I felt at that moment the 
sweet sensations that mercy leaves on the mind when 
she triumphs over cruelty. My dear friend, you see 
I take the liberty of an old acquaintance with you, 
in thus trifling with your time. 

Yours, &c, 

ALEX. WILSON. 



TO WILLIAM BERTRAM. 1 

Grey's Ferry, Dec. 15, 1804. 

Dear Sir, — Though now snugly at home, look- 
ing back in recollection on the long circuitous 
journey which I have at length finished, through 
trackless snows and uninhabited forests, over stu- 
pendous mountains and down dangerous rivers, 
passing over in a course of thirteen hundred miles, 
as great a variety of men and modes of living as 
the same extent of country can exhibit in any part 
of North America ; though in this tour I have had 
every disadvantage of deep roads and rough weather, 

a This letter was written shortly after his return from his first 
ornithological expedition,— the pedestrian journey to the Falls 
of Niagara ; of which journey his largest poem—" The Forest- 
ers " — is descriptive. 

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422 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS 

hurried marches, and many other inconveniences to 
encounter, — yet, so far am I from being satisfied 
with what I have seen, or discouraged by the fa- 
tigues which every traveller must submit to, that I 
feel more eager than ever to commence some more 
extensive expedition, where scenes and subjects en- 
tirely new and generally unknown, might reward my 
curiosity, and where, perhaps, my humble acquisi- 
tions might add something to the stores of know- 
ledge. For all the hazards and privations incident 
to such an undertaking, I feel confident in my own 
spirit and resolution. With no family to enchain 
my affections, no ties but those of friendship, and 
the most ardent love of my adopted country, — with 
a constitution which hardens amidst fatigues, and a 
disposition sociable and open, which can find itself 
at home by an Indian fire, in the depths of the 
woods, as well as in the best apartments of the civil- 
ized. For these and some other reasons that invite 
me away, I am determined to become traveller. But 
I am miserably deficient in many acquirements abso- 
lutely necessary for such a character. Botany, 
mineralogy, and drawing, I most ardently wish to 
be instructed in, and with these I should fear no- 
thing. Can I yet make any progress in botany, suffi- 
cient to enable me to be useful, and what would be 
the most proper way to proceed ? I have many 
leisure moments that should be devoted to this pur- 
suit, provided I could have hopes of succeeding. 
Your opinion on this subject will confer an addi- 
tional obligation on 

Your affectionate friend, 

ALEX. WILSON. 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 42e3 

TO WILLIAM BERTRAM. 

Union School, July 1805. 

Dear Sir, — I dare say you will smile at my pre- 
sumption, when I tell you that I have seriously be- 
gun to make a collection of drawings, of the birds 
to be found in Pennsylvania, or that occasionally pass 
through it, and twenty-eight of these I send for your 
opinion. They are, I hope, inferior to what I shall 
yet produce, though as close copies of the original as 
I could make. One or two of these I cannot find, 
either in your nomenclature, or among the seven 
volumes of Edwards. Any hint for promoting my 
plan, or enabling me to execute it better, I will re- 
ceive from you with pleasure. I have resigned every 
other amusement except reading and fiddling, for 
this design, which I will not give up without mak- 
ing a fair trial. 

Criticise these, my dear friend, without fear of of- 
fending me. This will instruct but not discourage 
me ; for there is not among all our naturalists one 
who knows so well what they are, and how they 
ought to be represented. In the mean time accept my 
best wishes for your happiness — wishes as sincere as 
ever one human being breathed for another. To 
your advice and encouraging encomiums, I am in- 
debted for those few specimens, and for all that 
will follow. They may yet tell posterity that I was 
honoured with your friendship, and that to your 
inspiration they owe their existence. 
Yours, &c, 

ALEX. WILSOX. 



TO MR. WILLIAM BERTRAM. 

Nov. 29, 1805. 

Dear Sir, — I have been amusing myself this 
some time in attempting to etch, and now send you 
a proof-sheet of my performance in this way. Be 



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424 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

so good as to communicate to me your own correc- 
tions, and those of your young friend and pupil, 
and I will receive them as a very kind and particu- 
lar favour. The drawings which I also send, that 
you may compare them together, were done from 
birds in full plumage, and in the best order. My 
next attempt in etching will perhaps be better, 
every thing in this being new to me. I will send 
you the first impression I receive, after I finish the 

plate. Yours, &c, 

ALEX. WILSON. 



TO MR. WILLIAM BERTRAM. 

Saturday, Jan. 4, 1806. 

Mr. Wilson's affectionate compliments to Mr. 
Bertram, and sends for his amusement and correc- 
tion, another proof of his birds of the United States. 
The colouring being chiefly done last night, must 
soften criticism a little. Will be thankful for my 
friend's advice and correction. Mr. Wilson wishes his 
beloved friend a happy new year, and every blessing. 



TO HIS EXCELLENCY THOMAS JEEFERSON, 
PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES. 

Kingsessing-, February 6, 1806. 

Sir, — Having been engaged these several years in 
collecting materials and furnishing drawings from 
nature, with the design of publishing a new Orni- 
thology of the United States of America — so deficient 
is the works of Catesby, Edwards, and other Euro- 
peans — I have traversed the greater part of our 
northern and eastern districts, and have collected 
many birds undescribed by these naturalists. Up- 
wards of one hundred engravings are completed ; 
and two plates in folio already engraved. But as 
many beautiful tribes frequent the Ohio and the 
extensive country through which it passes, that 



@ - - © 

MISCELLANEOUS PHOSE WRITINGS. 425 

probably never visit the Atlantic States; and as 
faithful representations of these can only be taken 
from living nature, or from birds newly killed, I had 
planned an expedition down that river from Pitts- 
burg to the Mississippi, thence to New Orleans, and 
to continue my researches by land in return to Phila- 
delphia. I had engaged as a companion and assistant 
Mr. W. Bertram of this place, whose knowledge of 
botany as well as zoology would have enabled me to 
make the best of the voyage, and to collect many 
new specimens in both those departments. Sketches 
of these were to have been taken on the spot ; and 
the subjects put in a state of preservation, to finish 
our drawings from as time would permit. We in- 
tended to set out from Pittsburg about the beginning 
of May, and expected to reach New Orleans in Sep- 
tember. 

But my venerable friend, Mr. Bertram, taking 
into more serious consideration his advanced age, 
being near seventy, and the weakness of his eyesight; 
and apprehensive of his inability to encounter the 
fatigues and privations unavoidable in so extensive 
a tour, and having, to my extreme regret, and the real 
loss of science, been induced to decline the journey, 
I had reluctantly abandoned the enterprise and all 
hopes of accomplishing my purpose, till hearing that 
your Excellency had it in contemplation to send tra - 
vellers this ensuing summer up the Red River, the 
Arkanshaw, and other tributary streams of the Mis- 
sissippi, and believing that my services might be of 
advantage to some of these parties, in promoting 
your Excellency's design ; while the best opportuni- 
ties would be afforded me of procuring subjects for 
the work which I have so much at heart. Under 
these impressions, I beg leave to offer myself for 
any of these expeditions, and can be ready at short 
notice to attend to your Excellency's orders. 

■=© 



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426 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

Accustomed to the hardships of travelling,without 
a family, and an enthusiast in the pursuit of natural 
history, I will devote my whole powers to merit your 
Excellency's approbation ; and ardently wish for an 
opportunity of testifying the sincerity of my profes- 
sions, and the deep veneration with which I have 
the honour to be, 

Sir, your obedient servant, 

ALEX. WILSON. 



TO MR. WILLIAM BERTRAM (A Fragment). 

Philadelphia, 1807. 

I hope you are in good health, enjoying your 
little paradise, the advances of Spring, shedding 
leaves, buds and blossoms ; bringing in her train 
choirs of as sweet songsters that earth can boast of, 
whilst every zephyr that plays around you breathes 
fragrance. Ah ! how different my situation. In this 
delightful season immured among musty books, 
compelled to forego the harmony of the woods for 
the everlasting din of the city ; the very face of the 
blessed heavens involved in soot, and interrupted by 
walls and chimney tops. But if I don't launch out 
into the woods and fields oftener than I have done 
these twelve months, may I be transformed into a 
street musician. * * * 



[In the latter end of the year 1808, Wilson set out on a journey 
to exhibit his first volume of the Ornithology, and to procure 
subscribers; and the best account of this journey, as also of his 
succeeding excursion in the Spring of the year 1809, can only 
be told by the following series of extracts from his own letters, 
which we here present, regretting that we are unable to give 
them in a more complete form.] 

TO MR. WILLIAM BERTRAM. 

Boston, October 10,. 1808. 

Dear Sir, — I have purposely avoided saying 
anything, either good or bad, on the encouragement 
I have met with. I shall only say, that among the 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 427 

many thousands who have examined my book, — and 
among these were men of the first character for taste 
and literature, — I have heard nothing but expressions 
of the highest admiration and esteem. If I have been 
mistaken in publishing a work too good for the coun- 
try, it is a fault not likely to be soon repeated, and 
will pretty severely correct itself. But, whatever 
may be the result of these matters, I shall not sit 
down with folded hands whilst anything can be done 
to carry my point, since God helps them who help 
themselves. I am fixing correspondents in every 
corner of these northern regions, like so many pick- 
ets and outposts ; so that scarcely a wren or tit shall 
be able to pass along from Took to Canada, but I 
shall get intelligence of it. * * * * 

At Princetown I bade my fellow-traveller good- 
bye, as I had to wait upon the reverend doctors of 
the college. I took my book under my arm, put 
several copies of the prospectus into my pocket, and 
walked up to this spacious sanctuary of literature. I 
could amuse you Avith some of my reflections on this 
occasion, but room will not permit. * * 

I spent nearly the whole of Saturday in Newark, 
where my book attracted as many starers as a bear 
or a mammoth would have done ; and I arrived in 
New York the same evening. The next day I wrote 
a number of letters, enclosing copies of the prospec- 
tus, to different gentlemen in town. In the afternoon 
of Tuesday, I took my book and waited on each of 
those gentlemen to whom I had written the preceding 
day. Among these I found some friends, but more 
admirers. The professors of Columbia college ex- 
pressed much esteem for my performance. Ihe 
professor of languages being a Scotchman, and also 
a Wilson, seemed to feel all the pride of national 
partiality so common to his countrymen, and would 
have done me any favour in his power. I spent the 

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428 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

whole of this week traversing the streets, from one 
particular house to another, till I believe I became 
almost as well known as the public crier or the clerk 
of the market, for I could frequently perceive gen- 
tlemen point me out to others as I passed with my 
book under my arm. * * * * 
- On reaching Hartford I waited on Mr. G., a mem- 
ber of congress, who recommended me to several 
others, particularly a Mr. W., a gentleman of taste 
and fortune, who was extremely obliging. The pub- 
lisher of a newspaper here expressed the highest 
admiration of the work, and has since paid many 
handsome compliments to it in his publication, as 
three other editors did in New York. This is a spe- 
cies of currency that will neither purchase plates, nor 
pay the printer ; but, nevertheless, it is gratifying 
to the vanity of an author, when nothing better can 
be got. * * * * 

I travelled on through New Hampshire, stopping 
at every place where I was likely to do any business, 
and went as far east as Portland in Maine, where I 
staid three days ; and the supreme court being then 
sitting, I had an opportunity of seeing and conversing 
with people from the remotest boundaries of the 
United States in this quarter, and received much 
interesting information from them with regard to 
the birds that frequent these northern regions. From 
Portland I directed my course across the country, 
among dreary, savage glens, and mountains covered 
with pines and hemlocks, amid whose black and half 
burnt trunks the everlasting rocks and stones that 
cover this county "grinned horridly." One hundred 
and fifty-seven miles brought me to Dartmouth col- 
lege, New Hampshire, on the Vermont line. Here I 
paid my addresses to the reverend fathers of litera- 
ture, and met with a kind and obliging reception. 
Dr. Wheelock, the president, made me eat at his 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 429 

table, and the professors vied with eacli other to 
oblige me. 

I expect to be in Albany in five days ; and, if the 
legislature be sitting, I shall be detained perhaps 
three days there. In eight days more, I hope to be 
in Philadelphia. I have laboured with the zeal of a 
knight-errant in exhibiting this book of mine wher- 
ever I went, travelling with it like a beggar with his 
bantling, from town to town, and from one country to 
another. I have been loaded with praises, with com- 
pliments, and kindnesses — shaken almost to pieces in 
stage coaches. I have wandered among strangers, 
hearing the same " Oh's" and "Ah's," and telling 
the same story a thousand times over. And for 
what? Ay, that's it! You are very anxious to 
know, and you shall know the whole when I reach 
Philadelphia. * * * * 

While in New York, I had the curiosity to call on 
the celebrated author of the Rights of Man. He 
lives in Greenwich, a short way from the city. In 
the only decent apartment of a small, indifferent 
looking frame house, I found this extraordinary 
man, — sitting wrapt in a night-gown, the table be- 
fore him covered with newspapers, with pen and ink 
beside him. Paine's face would have excellently 
suited the character of Bardolph ; but the penetra- 
tion of his eye bespake the man of genius and intel- 
ligence, and of the world. He complained to me of 
his inability to walk, an exercise he was formerly 
fond of; he examined my book, leaf by leaf, with 
great attention — desired me to put down his name 
as a subscriber, and after inquiring particularly for 
Mr. P. and Mr. B., wished to be remembered to both. 

My journey through almost the whole of New 
England has rather lowered the Yankees in my es- 
teem. Except a few neat academies, I found their 
school -houses equally ruinous and deserted with 

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430 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

ours; — fields covered with stones; stone fences; 
serabby oaks and pine trees ; wretched orchards ; 
scarcely one grain-field in twenty miles ; the taverns 
along the road dirty, and filled with loungers, braw- 
ling about law-suits and politics ; the people snap- 
pish and extortioners, lazy, and two hundred years 
behind the Pennsylvanians in agricultural improve- 
ments. * * * * 

It was late in the evening when I entered Boston, 
and whirling through the narrow, lighted streets, or 
rather lanes, I could form but a very imperfect idea 
of the town. Early next morning, resolved to see 
where I was, I sought out the way to Beacon Hill, 
the highest part of the town, and whence you look 
down on the roofs of the houses — the bay interspersed 
with islands — the ocean — the surrounding country, 
and distant mountains of New Hampshire ; but the 
most singular objects are the long wooden bridges, 
of which there are five or six, some of them three quar- 
ters of a mile long, uniting the towns of Boston and 
Chariestown with each other, and with the main land. 
I looked round with an eager eye for that eminence 
so justly celebrated in the history of the revolution 
of the United States, Bunker Hill, but I could see 
nothing that I could think deserving of the name, 
till a gentleman who stood by pointed out a white 
monument upon a height beyond Chariestown, which 
he said was the place. I explored the way thither 
without paying much attention to passing objects ; 
and in tracing the streets of Chariestown, was as- 
tonished and hurt at the indifference with which the 
inhabitants directed me to the place. I inquired if 
there were any person still living there who had been 
in the battle, and I was directed to a Mr. Miller, who 
was a lieutenant in this memorable affair. He is a 
man of about sixty ; stout, remarkably fresh coloured, 
with a benign and manly countenance. I introduced 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 431 

myself without ceremony, — shook his hand with sin- 
cere cordiality, and said with some warmth, that I 
was proud of the honour of meeting with one of the 
heroes of Bunker Hill, — the first unconquerable 
champions of their country. He looked at me, 
pressed my hand in his, and the tears instantly glis- 
tened in his eyes, which as instantly called up cor- 
responding ones in my own. In our way to the 
place, he called on a Mr. Carter ; who, he said, was 
also in the action, and might recollect some circum- 
stances which he had forgotten. With these two 
veterans I spent three hours, the most interesting to 
me of any of my life. As they pointed out to me 
the route of the British — the American entrench- 
ments — the place where the greatest slaughter was 
made — the spot Warren fell — and where he was 
thrown amid heaps of the dead, I felt as though I 
could have encountered a whole "battalion myself in 
the same glorious cause. The old soldiers were highly 
delighted with my enthusiasm ; we drank a glass of 
wine to the memory of the illustrious dead, and 
parted almost with regret. * * * * 

In Annapolis I passed my book through both 
houses of the legislature. The wise men of Mary- 
land stared and gaped from bench to bench ; but, 
having never heard of such a thing as one hundred 
and twenty dollars for a book, the ayes for subscribing 
were none, and so it was unanimously determined in 
the negative. Nowise discouraged by this sage de- 
cision, I pursued my route through the tobacco 
fields, sloughs, and swamps of this illiterate corner 
of the state to Washington, distant thirty-eight 
miles ; and so my way opened fifty-five gates. I was 
forewarned that I should meet with many of these 
embarrassments, and I opened twenty- two of them 
with all the patience and philosophy I could muster; 
but when I still found them coming thicker and 

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432 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

faster, my patience and philosophy both abandoned 
me, and I saluted every new gate (which obliged me 
to plunge into the mud to open it,) with perhaps less 
Christian resignation than I ought to have done. 
The negroes there are very numerous and most 
wretchedly clad ; their whole covering, in many in- 
stances, assumes the appearance of neither coat, 
waistcoat, nor breeches, but a motley mass of coarse, 
dirty woollen rags, of various colours, gathered up 
about them. When I stopped at some of the negro 
huts to inquire the road, both men and women hud- 
dled up their filthy bundles of rags around them, 
with both arms, in order to cover their nakedness, 
and came out very civilly to show me the way. * * 

I mentioned to you in my last, that the streets of 
Norfolk were in the most disgraceful state ; but I 
was informed that some time before, they had been 
much worse — that at one time the news-carrier de- 
livered his papers from a boat, which he poled along 
through the mire — and that a party of sailors having 
nothing better to do, actually launched a ship's long 
boat into the streets, rowing along with four oars 
through the mud, while one stood at the bough heav- 
ing the lead and singing out the depth. * * 

The productions of these parts of North Carolina 
are hogs, turpentine, tar, and apple-brandy. A 
tumbler of toddy is usually the morning's beverage 
of the inhabitants as soon as they get out of bed. So 
universal is the practice, that the first thing you find 
them engaged in after rising, is preparing the brandy 
toddy. You can scarcely meet a man whose lips are 
not parched and chopped, or blistered with drink- 
ing this poison. Those who do not drink it, they 
say, are sure of the ague ; I, however, escaped. The 
pine woods have a singular appearance, every tree 
being stripped on one or more sides, of the bark, for 
six or seven feet up, the turpentine covers these 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 433 

parts in thick masses. I saw the people in different 
parts of the woods, mounted on benches, chopping 
down the sides of the trees, leaving a trough or box 
on the ground for the turpentine to run into. Of 
hogs they have immense multitudes ; one person will 
sometimes own five hundred. The leaders have bells 
round their necks ; and every drove knows its par- 
ticular call, whether it be a conch shell or the bawl- 
ing of a negro, though half-a-mile off. Their owners 
will sometimes drive them for four or five days to a 
market, without once feeding them. 

The taverns are the most desolate and beggarly 
imaginable. Bare, bleak, and dirty walls ; one cr 
two old broken chairs, and a bench, form all the 
furniture. The white females seldom make their 
appearance, and every thing must be transacted 
through the medium of the negroes. At supper you 
sit down to a meal, the very sight of which is suffi- 
cient to deaden the most eager appetite, and you 
are surrounded by half a dozen dirty, half naked 
blacks, male and female. The house itself is raised 
upon props, four or five feet ; and the space below 
is left open for the hogs, with whose charming vocal 
performance the wearied traveller is serenaded the 
whole night long, till he is forced to curse the hogs, 
the house, and every thing about it. 

The general features of North Carolina where I 
crossed it, are immense, solitary pine savannas, 
through which the road "winds among stagnant pools 
swarming with alligators ; dark and sluggish creeks 
of the colour of brandy, over which are thrown 
high wooden bridges without railings, and so crazy 
and rotten as not only to alarm one's horse, but also 
the rider, and to make it a matter of thanksgiving 
with both when they get fairly over without going 
through; enormous cypress swamps, which to a 
stranger have a striking, desolate, and ruinous ap- 
9 C 



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434 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

pearance. Picture to yourself a forest of prodigious 
trees, rising as thick as they can grow from a vast, 
flat, impenetrable morass, covered for ten feet from 
the ground with reeds. The leafless limbs of the 
cypress are clothed with an extraordinary kind of 
moss (Tillandsia Usareades,) from two to ten feet 
long, in such quantities that fifty men might conceal 
themselves in one tree. Nothing in this county 
struck me with such surprise as the prospect of 
several thousand acres of such timber, loaded as it 
were, with many million tons of tow, waving in the 
wind. I attempted to penetrate several of these 
swamps with my gun, in search of something new ; but 
except in some chance places, I found it altogether im- 
practicable. I coasted along their borders, however, 
in many places, and was surprised at the great pro- 
fusion of evergreens, of numberless sorts, and a va- 
riety of berries that I knew nothing of. Here I 
found multitudes of birds that never winter with us 
in Pennsylvania, living in abundance. * * 

Prom Wilmington I rode through solitary pine 
savannas and cypress swamps, as before, sometimes 
thirty miles without seing a hut or human being. 
On arriving at the Wackamaw, Pedee, and Black 
river, I made long zig-zags among the rich nabobs, 
who live on their rice plantations, amidst large 
villages of negro huts. One of these gentleman told 
me, that he had " something better than six hundred 
head of blacks." 

These excursions detained me greatly. The roads 
to the plantations were so long, so difficult to find, 
and so bad, and the hospitality of the planters was 
such, that I could scarcely get away again. I ought 
to have told you that the deep sands of South Caro- 
lina had so worn out my horse, that, with all my 
care, I found that he would give up. Chance led me 
to the house of a planter, named Vale, about forty 



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435 



miles north of the river "Waekarnaw, where I pro- 
posed to bargain with him, and to give up my young 
blood-horse for another in exchange ; giving him at 
least as good a character as he deserved. He asked 
me twenty dollars to boot, and i" thirty. We parted, 
but I could perceive that he had taken a liking to 
my steed ; so I went on. He followed me to the sea 
beach, about three miles, under pretence of pointing 
out to me the road ; and there, on the sands, amidst 
the roar of the Atlantic, we finally bargained ; and 
I found myself in possession of a large, well-formed, 
and elegant sorrel horse, that ran off with me at a 
canter, for fifteen miles, along the sea-shore; and 
travelled the same day forty- two miles, with nothing 
but a few mouthfuls of rice-straw, which I got from 
a negro. If you have ever seen the rushes with 
which carpenters sometimes smooth their work, you 
may form some idea of the common fare of the South 
Carolina horses. I found now that I had got a very 
devil before my chair ; the least sound of the whip 
made him spring half a rood at a leap. No road, 
however long or heavy, could tame him. Two or 
three times he had nearly broken my neck, and 
chair to boot; and at Georgetown ferry he threw 
one of the boatmen into the river. But he is an 
excellent traveller, and for that one quality I for- 
give him all his sins, only keeping a close rein and a 
sharp look out. * * * * 

I should now give you some account of Charleston, 
with the streets of which I am as well acquainted as 
I was with those of New York and Boston ; but I re- 
serve that until we meet. I shall only say, that the 
streets cross each other at right angles — are paved 
on the sides — have a low bed of sand in the middle ; 
and frequently are in a state fit to be compared with 
those of Norfolk. The town, however, is neat, has 
a gay appearance, is full of shops, and has a market- 



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436 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

place, which far surpasses those of Philadelphia for 
cleanliness, and is an honour to the city. Many of 
the buildings have two, three, and four ranges of 
piazzas, one above another, with a great deal of 
gingerbread work about them. The streets are 
crowded with negroes; and their quarrels often 
afford amusement to the passengers. In a street 
called Broad street, I every day see a crowd of 
wretchedly clad blacks, huddled in a corner for sale, 
people handling them as they do black cattle. Here 
are female chimney-sweeps; stalls with roasted sweet 
potatoes for sale ; and on the wharfs, clubs of blacks, 
male and female, sitting round fires, amid heaps of 
oyster- shells, cooking their victuals ; these seem the 
happiest mortals on earth. The finest groups for a 
comic painter might every day be found here that 
any country can produce. The indolence, want of 
energy, and dissipation of the wealthy part of the 
community in this place, are truly contemptible. 
The superabundance of negroes in the southern 
states has destroyed the activity of the whites. 
The carpenter, bricklayer, and even the blacksmith, 
stand with their hands in their pockets, overlooking 
their negroes. The planter orders his servant to tell 
the overseer to see my horse fed and taken care of; 
the overseer sends another negro to tell the driver 
to send one of his hands to do it. Before half of 
this routine is gone through, I have myself unhar- 
nessed, rubbed down, and fed my horse. Every 
thing must be done through the agency of these 
slovenly blacks. These are, however, not one-tenth 
of the curses slavery has brought on the southern 
states. Nothing has surprised me more than the 
cold melancholy reserve of the females of the best fa- 
milies in South Carolina and Georgia. * * 

On the common, near Charleston, I presided at a 
singular feast. The company consisted of two hun- 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 437 

dred and thirty-seven carrion crows, Vultur Atnatus, 
five or six dogs, and myself, though I only kept 
order, and left the eating part entirely to the others. 
I sat so near to the dead horse, that my feet touched 
his ; and yet, at one time, I counted thirty-eight 
vultures on and within him, so that hardly an inch 
of his flesh could be seen for them. Linnseus and 
others have confounded this vulture with the tur- 
key buzzard, but they are two very distinct species. 
* * * * 

Having now visited all the towns within one hun- 
dred miles of the Atlantic, from Maine to Georgia, 
and done as much for this bantling book of mine, as 
ever author did for any progeny of his brain, I now 
turn my wishful eye towards home. There is a 
charm, a melody, in this little word home, which 
only those know who hare forsaken it to wander 
among strangers ; exposed to dangers, fatigues, and 
insults, and impositions of a thousand nameless 
kinds. Perhaps I feel the force of this idea rather 
more at present than usual, being indisposed with 
a slight fever these three days, which a doze of sea- 
sickness will, I hope, rid me of. * 
Yours, &c, 

ALEX. WILSOX. 



TO MR. ALEXANDER WILSOX, PAISLEY. a 

Philadelphia, June 15, 1809. 
Dear Eather, — Mr. David Brown having in- 
formed me of his intention of sailing for Scotland, I 

a This letter was accompanied by a copy of the first volume of 
the Ornithology, a present to his father. The letter is worthy 
of preservation as showing Wilson's feelings and regard for his 
friends and native country, after an absence of fourteen years. — 
This volume is now in the possession of Mr. John Bell, Glas- 
gow, who is married to the poet's youngest sister, still in life, 
and has the following words, in the author's own handwriting, 
inscribed on a blank leaf: — "To my aged father, from bis af- 
fectionate son, the author." 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 



have transmitted to you by him the first volume of 
my American Ornithology, just publishing, and shall, 
if I live to finish it, send you regularly the remain- 
ing nine volumes as they appear. In giving exis- 
tence to this work, I have expended all I have been 
saving since my arrival in America, I have also 
visited every town within 150 miles of the Atlantic 
coast, from the river St. Lawrence to St. Augustine 
in Florida, from whence I returned about two months 
ago. Whether I shall be able to realize a fortune by 
this publication, or recover first costs, or suffer the 
sacrifice of my little all, is yet doubtful. I met with 
a most honourable reception among many of the first 
characters in the United States, and have collected 
such a mass of information on this branch of Natural 
History, as will entitle the work to the merit of ori- 
ginality at least. 

I called on John Finlayson yesterday at his rural 
retreat in a charming hollow, sheltered with apple 
trees, where " hens on the midden, ducks in dibs are 
seen," and a clear brook rins wimplin by his yard. 
John is an active, industrious fellow, and much es- 
teemed in his neighbourhood ; has a fine family of 
children, hives of bees, a ewe with three lambs, four 
looms, and many other comforts and curiosities about 
him. We went to a neighbouring farmer together, 
to see a flock of the merino breed of sheep, which are 
multiplying in the United States beyond all belief. 
My nephew, W. Duncan, and his brother, have com- 
menced manufacturing at Milestown, with consider- 
able success. Their sister Mary keeps house for them 
and they live very happily. I have heard nothing 
from my sister in Ganesee these twelve months. I 
wrote her lately respecting the death of her son 
George, who fell a victim to the yellow fever three 
weeks after his arrival in America. He was received 
into the marine hospital at Norfolk, Virginia, on the 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS 439 

3rd of October, and died on the 5th. I examined 
the nurse and sexton, and visited the place where the 
multitude of that year (chiefly strangers,) were 
buried, and would have placed a humble stone over 
his grave, had it been possible to ascertain the spot. 

William Mitchell, formerly of William sburgh, who 
has been supposed dead these several years, is living 
and in good health at New Orleans — as a common 
soldier. During my journey through Virginia and 
the Carolinas, I made every inquiry respecting Bow- 
man, formerly writing master, but could hear no- 
thing of him. John Rowan still continues in the hon- 
ourable profession of making bitters, and prescribing 
in certain disorders. Robert Shaw and family were 
well last March. Mr. Brown can inform you respect- 
ing their situation. 

I am still under engagements to Mr. Bradford as 
assistant editor of the Cyclopaedia — this with the Or- 
nithology, and other occasional things in the poetical 
way, keep me from the sin of idleness, from which I 
have been pretty well preserved for these 15 years. 
Joseph Roger died about ten months ago in Schenie- 
lady — I saw his widow there in October last. I could 
have wished to have seen William Morrison and 
Kelly, but my time would not permit. Thomas 
Wotherspoon, once my most particular friend and 
companion, has I suppose altogether forgot me, — 
remember my respects to Jean and him. I shall 
most probably never see either them, or any of my 
friends, or Paisley, more — but 

"While remembrance' power remains, 
Those native scenes shall meet my view ; 

Dear — long lost friends ! — on foreign plains 
I'll sigh, and shed a tear for you. 

All my relations in and about Philadelphia are 
well. I should be happy to hear from John Bell 
and Jean, and would willingly give a hundred dollars 



440 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

to spend a few days with you all in Paisley, but like 
a true bird of passage, I would again wing my way 
across the western waste of waters, to the peaceful 
and happy regions of America. 

What has become of David that I never hear from 
him? Let me know, my dear father, how you live, 
and how you enjoy your health at your advanced 
age. I trust the publication I have now commenced, 
and which has procured for me reputation and re- 
spect, will also enable me to contribute to your inde- 
pendence and comfort, in return for what I owe to 
you. To my stepmother, sisters, brothers, and 
friends, I beg to be remembered affectionately. 
Your grateful son, 

ALEX. WILSON. 



TO MR. LAWSON. 

[ The folio wing is a series of extracts from his letters to his friend, 
put together so as to form a continued narrative, and describe 
his most extensive pilgrimage, or in his own words, " bird-catch- 
ing expedition." The journey was undertaken after the second 
volume of the " American Ornithology" appeared, and occupied 
him upwards of seven months, and during that time he traversed 
through unknown regions of the wilds of the western -world, more 
than 3,000 miles, "a solitary and exploring pilgrim."] 

Pittsburg, Feb. 22, 1810. 

Dear Sir, — From this first stage of my Ornitho- 
logical pilgrimage, I sit down with pleasure to give 
you some account of my adventures since we parted . 
On arriving at Lancaster, I waited on the governor, 
secretary of state, and such other great folks as were 
likely to be useful to me. The governor received 
me with civility, passed some good-natured compli- 
ments on the volumes, and readily added his name 
to my list. He seems an active man, of plain good 
sense, and little ceremony. By Mr. L. I was intro- 
duced to many members of both houses ; but I found 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 441 

them in general such a pitiful, squabbling, political 
mob; so split up, and justling about the mere for- 
malities of legislation, without knowing anything of 
its realities, that I abandoned them in disgust. I 
must, however, except from this censure a few in- 
telligent individuals, friends to science, and possessed 
of taste, who treated me with great kindness. 

On Friday evening I set out for Columbia, where 
I spent one day in vain. I crossed the Susque- 
hannah on Sunday afternoon, with some difficulty, 
having to cut our way through the ice for several 
hundred yards, and passed on to York, paid my re- 
spects to ail the literati of that place without suc- 
cess. Five miles north of this town lives a very 
extraordinary character, between eighty and ninety 
years of age, who has lived by trapping birds and 
quadrupeds these thirty years. Dr. F. carried me 
out in a sleigh to see him, and presented me with a 
tolerably good full length figure of him ; he has also 
promised to transmit to me, such a collection of 
facts relative to this singular original, as will enable 
me to draw up an interesting narrative of him for the 
" Port Folio." I carried him half a pound of snuff, 
of which he is insatiably fond, taking it by handfuls. 
I w r as much diverted with the astonishment he ex- 
pressed, on looking at the plates of my work ; he 
could tell me anecdotes of the greater part of the 
subjects of the first volume, and some of the second. 
One of his traps, which he says he invented himself, 
is remarkable for ingenuity, and extremely simple. 

Having a letter from Dr. Muhlenberg to a clergy- 
man in Hanover, I passed on through a well culti- 
vated country, chiefly inhabited by Germans, to that 
place, where a certain judge took upon himself to 
say, that such a book as mine ought not to be en- 
couraged, as it was not within the reach of the 
commonalty, and, therefore, inconsistent with our 



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442 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

republican institutions! By the same mode of rea- 
soning, which I did not dispute, I undertook to prove 
him a greater culprit than myself, in erecting a large 
elegant three story brick house, so much beyond the 
reach of the commonalty, as he called them, and con- 
sequently, grossly contrary to our republican in- 
stitutions. I harangued this Solomon of the bench 
more seriously afterwards, pointing out to him the 
great influence of science on a young rising nation 
like ours, and particularly the science of natural 
history, till he began to show such symptons of in- 
tellect, as to seem ashamed of what he had said. * * 

Gentlemen here assure me, that the road to Chilo- 
cothe is impassable on foot, by reason of the freshes. 
I have therefore resolved to navigate myself in a 
small skiff, which I have bought, and named the 
Ornithologist, down to Cincinnati, a distance of five 
hundred and twenty-eight miles, intending to visit 
five or six towns that lie in my way. Prom Cincin- 
nati I will cross over to the opposite shore, and, 
abandoning my boat, make way to Lexington, where 
I expect to be ere your letter can reach that place. 
Were I to go by Chilocothe, I should miss five 
towns as large as it. Some say that I ought not to 
attempt going down by myself — others think I may. 
I am determined to make the experiment, the ex- 
pense of hiring a rower being considerable. As 
soon as the ice clears out of the Alleghany, and the 
weather will permit, I shall shove off, having every 
thing in readiness. I have ransacked the woods and 
fields here, without finding a single bird new to me, 
or indeed anything but a few snow-birds and spar- 
rows. I expect to have something interesting to 
communicate in my next. * * * * 

Having now reached the second stage of my bird- 
catching expedition, I willingly sit down to give you 
some account of my adventures and remarks since 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 443 

leaving Pittsburg : by the aid of a good map, and 
your usual stock of patience, you will be able to 
listen to my story, and trace all my wanderings. 
Though generally dissuaded from venturing by my- 
self on so long a voyage down the Ohio, in an open 
skiff, I considered this mode, with all its inconveni- 
ences, as the most favourable to my researches, and 
the most suitable to my funds, and I determined 
accordingly. Two days before my departure, the 
Alleghany river was one wide torrent of broken ice, 
and I calculated on experiencing considerable difficul- 
ties on this score. My stock of provisions consisted 
of some biscuit and cheese, and a bottle of cordial 
presented me by a gentleman of Pittsburg ; my gun, 
trunk, and great coat occupied one end of the boat ; 
I had a small tin, occasionally to bale her, and to 
take my beverage from the Ohio with ; and bidding 
adieu to the smoky confines of Pitt, I launched into 
the stream, and soon winded away among the hills 
that every where enclose this noble river. The wea- 
ther was warm and serene, and the river like a mir- 
ror, except where floating masses of ice spotted its 
surface, and which required some care to steer clear 
of; but these, to my surprise, in less than a day's 
sailing, totally disappeared. Ear from being con- 
cerned at my new situation, I felt my heart expand 
with joy at the novelties which surrounded me ; I 
listened with pleasure to the whistling of the red- 
bird on the banks as I passed, and contemplated the 
forest scenery as it receded, with increasing delight. 
The smoke of the numerous maple sugar camps, 
rising lazily among the mountains, gave great effect 
to the varying landscape; and the grotesque log 
cabins, that here and there opened from the woods, 
were diminished into mere dog-houses by the subli- 
mity of the impending mountains. If you suppose 
to yourself two parallel ranges of forest-covered hills, 



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444 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

whose irregular summits are seldom more than three 
or four miles apart, winding through an immense 
extent of country, and enclosing a river half a mile 
wide, which alternately washes the steep declivity 
on one side, and leaves a rich flat forest-clad bottom 
on the other, of a mile or so in breadth, you will 
have a pretty correct idea of the appearance of the 
Ohio. The banks of these rich flats are from twenty 
to sixty and eighty feet high, and even these last 
were within a few feet of being overflowed in De- 
cember, 1808. 

I now stripped with alacrity to my new avocation. 
The current went about two and a half miles an 
hour, and I added about three and a half miles more 
to the boat's way with my oars. In the course of 
the day I passed a number of arks, or as they are 
usually called Kentucky boats, loaded with what it 
must be acknowledged are the most valuable com- 
modities of a country; viz., men,ivomen and children, 
horses and ploughs, flour, mill-stones, &c. Several 
of these floating caravans were loaded with store 
goods for the supply of the settlements through 
which they passed, having a counter erected, shawls, 
muslins, &c, displayed, and every thing ready for 
transacting business. On approaching a settlement 
they blow a horn or tin trumpet, which announces 
to the inhabitants their arrival. I boarded many of 
these arks, and felt much interested at the sight of 
so many human beings, migrating like birds of pas- 
sage to the luxuriant regions of the south and west. 
The arks are built in the form of a parallelogram, 
being from twelve to fourteen feet wide, and from 
forty to seventy feet long, covered above, rowed 
only occasionally by two oars before, and steered by 
a long and powerful one fixed above. 

I rowed twenty odd miles at the first spell, and 
found I should be able to stand it perfectly well. 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 445 

About an hour after night I put up at a miserable 
cabin, fifty-two miles from Pittsburg, where I slept 
on what I supposed to be corn-stalks, or something 
worse ; so, preferring the smooth bosom of the Ohio 
to this brush-heap, I got up long before day, and being 
under no apprehension of losing my way, I again 
pushed out into the stream. The landscape on each 
side lay in one mass of shade, but the grandeur of the 
projecting headlands, and vanishing points or lines, 
was charmingly reflected in the smooth glassy sur- 
face below. I could only discover when I was passing 
a clearing by the crowing of cocks ; and now and 
then, in more solitary places, the big horned owl 
made a most hideous hollowing, that echoed among 
the mountains. In this lonesome manner, with full 
leisure for observation and reflection, exposed to 
hardships all day and hard berths all night, to storms 
of rain, hail, and snow, for it froze severely almost 
every night, I persevered from the 24th of Eebruary 
to Sunday evening, March 17th, when I moored my 
skiff safely in Bear-grass creek, at the rapids of the 
Ohio, after a voyage of seven hundred and twenty 
miles. My hands suffered the most ; and it will be 
some weeks yet before they recover their former 
feeling and flexibility. It would be the task of a 
month to detail all the particulars of my numerous 
excursions in every direction from the river. 

Nothing adds more to the savage grandeur and 
picturesque effect of the scenery along the Ohio, 
than those miserable huts of human beings, lurking 
at the bottom of a gigantic growth of timber that I 
have not seen equalled in any part of the United 
States ; and it is truly amusing to observe how dear 
and how familiar habit has rendered those privations 
which must have been first the offspring of necessity, 
yet none pride themselves more on their possessions. 
The inhabitants of these forlorn sheds will talk to 

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446 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS 

you with pride of the richness cf their soil, of the 
excellence and abundance of their country, of the 
healthiness of their climate and the purity of their 
waters ; while the only bread you find among them 
is of Indian corn coarsely ground in a horse-mill, 
with half of the grains unbroken. Even their cattle 
are destitute of stables and hay, and look like move 
ing skeletons; their own houses worse than pig- 
sties ; their clothes an assembly of rags ; their faces 
yellow and lank with disease; and their persons 
covered with filth, and frequently garnished with 
the humours of the Scotch fiddle ; from which dread- 
ful disease, by the mercy of God, I have been most 
miraculously preserved. All this is the effect of 
laziness. The corn is thrown into the ground in the 
spring, and the pigs turned into the woods, where 
they multiply like rabbits. The labour of the squat- 
ter is now over till autumn, and he spends the winter 
in eating pork, cabbage, and hoe-cakes. What a 
contrast to the neat farm, and snug, cleanly habita- 
tion of the industrious settler, that opens his green 
fields, his stately barns, gardens, and orchards, to 
the gladdened eye of the delighted spectator. * * 
At Marietta, I visited the celebrated remains of 
Indian fortifications, as they are improperly called, 
which cover a large space of ground on the banks of 
the Muskingum. Seventy miles above this, at a 
place called Big Grave Creek, I examined some ex- 
traordinary remains of the same kind. The Big 
Grave is three hundred paces round at the base, 
seventy feet perpendicular, and the top which is 
about fifty feet over, has sunk in, forming a regular 
concavity three or four feet deep. This tumulus is 
in the form of a cone, and the whole, as well as its 
immediate neighbourhood, is covered with a vener- 
able growth of forest, four or five hundred years old, 
which gives it a most singular appearance. * 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 447 

On Monday, March 5, about ten miles below the 
mouth of the Great Sciota, where I saw the first 
flock of paroquets, I encountered a violent storm of 
wind and rain, which changed to hail and snow, blow- 
ing down trees and limbs in all directions ; so that 
for immediate preservation I was obliged to steer 
out into the river, which rolled and foamed like a 
sea, and filled my boat nearly half full of water, and 
it was with the greatest difficulty I could make the 
least head- way. It continued to snow violently until 
dusk, when I at length ma.de good my landing at a 
place on the Kentucky shore where I had perceived 
a cabin ; and here I spent the evening in learning 
the art and mystery of bear-treeing, wolf-trapping, 
and wild-cat hunting, from an old professor. But, 
notwithstanding the skill of this great master, the 
country here is swarming with wolves and wild-cats, 
black and brown. According to this hunter's own 
confession, he had lost sixty pigs since Christmas 
last ; and all night long the distant howling of the 
wolves kept the dogs in a perpetual uproar of bark- 
ing. This man was one of those people called squat' 
ters, who neither pay rent nor own land, but keep 
roving on the frontiers, advancing as the tide of 
civilized population approaches. They are the im- 
mediate successors of the savages, and far below 
them in good sense and good manners, as well as 
comfortable accommodations. An engraved repre- 
sentation of one of their cabins would form a striking 
embellishment to the pages of the " Portfolio," as a 

specimen of the first order of American architecture. 

***** 

On the afternoon of the 15th I entered Big Bone 
Creek which being passable only about a quarter of a 
mile, I secured my boat and left my baggage under 
the care of a decent family, and set out on foot five 
miles through the woods for the Big Bone Lick, that 
2 c 4 



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448 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

great antediluvian rendezvous of the American ele- 
phants. This place, which lies " far in the windings 
of a sheltered vale," afforded me a fund of amuse- 
ment in shooting ducks and paroquets (of which last I 
skinned twelve, and brought off two slightly wound- 
ed), and in examining the ancient buffalo roads to 
this great licking place. Mr. Colquhoun, the pro- 
prietor, was not at home ; but his agent and manager 
entertained me as well as he was able, and was much 
amused with my enthusiasm. This place is a low 
valley, every where surrounded by high hills. In 
the centre, by the side of the creek, is a quagmire of 
near an acre, from which, -and another smaller one 
below, the chief i>art of these large bones have been 
taken, At the latter places, I found numerous frag- 
ments of large bones lying scattered about. In pur- 
suing a wounded duck across this quagmire, I had 
nearly deposited my carcass among the grand con- 
gregation of mammoths below, having sunk up to 
the middle, and had hard struggling to get out. * * 
On Friday the 24th, I left my baggage with a 
merchant of the place [Lousville,] to be forwarded 
by the first waggon, and set out on foot to Lexington, 
seventy-two miles distant. Walking here in wet 
weather is most execrable, and is like travelling on 
soft soap ; a few days of warm weather hardens this 
again almost into stone. Want of bridges is the 
greatest inconvenience to a foot-traveller here. Be- 
tween Shelbyville and Frankfort, having gone out 
of my way to see a pigeon roost (which by the bye 
is the greatest curiosity I have seen since leaving 
home), I waded a deep creek called Benson nine or 
ten times. I spent several days in Frankfort, and in 
rambling among the stupendous cliffs of Kentucky 
river. On Thursday evening I entered Lexington. 

The horses of Kentucky are the hardiest in the 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 449 

world, not so much by nature as by education and 
habit. From the commencement of their existence 
they are habituated to every extreme of starvation 
and gluttony, idleness and excessive fatigue. In 
summer they fare sumptuously every day. In win- 
ter, when not a blade of grass is to be seen, and when 
the crows have deprived them of the very bark and 
buds of every fallen tree, they are ridden into town, 
fifteen or twenty miles, through roads and sloughs 
that would become the graves of any common ani- 
mal, with a fury and celerity incomprehensible by 
you folks on the other side of the Alleghany. They 
are then fastened to the posts at the sides of the 
streets and around the public square, where hun- 
dreds of them might be seen hanging their heads 
from morning to night in deep cogitation, ruminat- 
ing perhaps on the long-expected return of spring 
and green herbage. * * * 

Lexington with all its faults, which a few years 
will gradually correct, is an honourable monument 
of the enterprise, courage, and industry of the inha- 
bitants. * * * 

In the woods [near the banks of the Green river,] 
I met a soldier on foot, from New Orleans, who had 
been robbed and plundered by the Chactaws, as he 
passed through their nation. " Thirteen or fourteen 
Indians," said he, "surrounded me before I was 
aware, cut away my canteen, tore off my hat, took 
the handkerchief from my neck, and the shoes from 
my feet, and all the money I had from me, which 
was about forty-five dollars." Such was his story. 
He was going to Chilocothe, and seemed pretty 
nearly done up. In the afternoon I crossed another 
stream of about twenty -five yards in width, called 
Little Barren ; after which, the country began to as- 
sume a new and very singular appearance. The 
woods which had hitherto been stately, now degene- 



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450 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

rated into mere scrubby saplings on which not a bud 
was beginning to unfold, and grew so open that I 
could see for a mile through them. No dead timber 
or rotten leaves were to be seen, but the whole face 
of the ground was covered with rich verdure, inter- 
spersed with a variety of very beautiful flowers, alto- 
gether new to me. It seemed as if the whole country 
had once been one general level, but that, from some 
unknown cause, the ground had been undermined, 
and had fallen in in innumerable places, forming 
regular funnel-shaped concavities of all dimensions, 
from twenty feet in diameter and six feet in depth 
to five hundred by fifty, the surface or verdure un- 
broken. In some tracts the surface was entirely 
destitute of trees, and the eye was presented with 
nothing but one general neighbourhood of these 
concavities, or as they are usually called sink-holes. 
At the centre or bottom of some of these, openings 
had been made for water. In several places these 
holes had broken in on the sides, and even middle of 
the road, to an unknown depth; presenting their 
grim mouths as if to swallow up the unwary travel- 
ler. At the bottom of one of these declivities, at 
least fifty feet below the general level, a large rivu- 
let of pure water issued at once from the mouth of a 
cave about twelve feet wide and seven high. A 
number of very singular sweet-smelling lichens grew 
over the entrance, and a pewee had fixed her nest 
like a little sentry-box on a projecting shelf of the 
rock above the water. The height and dimensions 
of the cave continued the same as far as I waded in, 
which might be thirty or forty yards ; but the dark- 
ness became so great that I was forced to return. I 
observed numbers of small fish sporting about ; and 
I doubt not but these abound even in its utmost sub- 
terranean recesses. The whole of this country, from 
Green to Red river, is hollowed out into these enor- 



1 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 451 

mous caves; one of which, lately discovered in 
Warren county, about eight miles from the dripping 
spring, has been explored for upwards of six miles, 
extending under the bed of the Green river. The 
entrance to these caves generally commences at the 
bottom of a sink-hole ; and many of them are used 
by the inhabitants as cellars or spring-houses, having 
generally a spring or brook of clear water running 
through them. I descended into one of these belong- 
ing to a Mr. Ward, accompanied by the proprietor, 
who carried the light. At first, the darkness was so 
intense that I could scarcely see a few feet beyond 
the circumference of the candle ; but, after being in 
five or six minutes, the objects around me began to 
make their appearance more distinctly. The bottom 
for fifteen or twenty yards at first was so irregular 
that Ave had constantly to climb over large masses 
of wet and slippery rocks. The roof rose in many 
places to the height of twenty to thirty feet, pre- 
senting all the most irregular projections of surface, 
and hanging in gloomy and silent horror. We passed 
numerous chambers, or offsets, which we did not 
explore ; and, after three hours wandering in these 
profound regions of gloom and silence, the particu- 
lars of which would detain me too long, I emerged 
with a handkerchief filled with bats, including one 
which I have never seen described, and a number of 
extraordinary insects of the gryllus tribe, with an- 
tinnea upwards of six inches long, and which I am 
persuaded had never before seen the light of day, as 
they fled from it with seeming terror, and I be- 
lieve were as blind in it as their companions the bats. 
Great quantities of native glauber salts are found in 
these caves, and are used by the country people in 
the same manner, and with equal effect, as those of 
the shops. But the principal production is saltpetre, 
which is procured from the earth in great abundance. 

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452 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

The cave in Warren county, above mentioned, has 
lately been sold for three thousand dollars to a salt- 
petre company ; an individual of which informed 
me, that from every appearance, this cave had been 
known to the Indians many ages ago ; and had evi- 
dently been used for the same purposes. At the 
distance of more than a mile from the entrance the 
exploring party on their first visit found the roof 
blackened by smoke, and bundles of half-burnt canes 
scattered about. A bark mockasin of curious con- 
struction, besides several other Indian articles, were 
found among the rubbish. The earth also, lay piled 
in heaps, with great regularity, as if in preparation 
for extracting the saltpetre. 

Notwithstanding the miserable appearance of the 
timber in these barrens, the soil to my astonishment 
produced the most luxuriant fields of corn and wheat 
I had ever before met with. But one great disad- 
vantage is the want of water; for the whole running 
streams with which the surface of this county evi- 
dently once abounded have been drained off to a 
great depth, and now murmur among these lower 
regions secluded from the day. One forenoon I rode 
nineteen miles without seeing water ; while my faith- 
ful horse looked round, but in vain, at every hollow, 
with a wistful and languishing eye for that precious 
element. These barrens furnished me with excellent 
sport in shooting grouse, which abound here in great 
numbers ; and in the delightful groves that here and 
there rise majestically from these plains, I found 
many new subjects for my Ornithology. I observed 
all this day, far to the right, a range of high, rocky, 
detached hills, or knobs as they are called, that skirt 
the barrens, as if they had been once the boundaries 
of the great lake that formerly covered this vast 
plain. These, I was told, abound with stone, coal, 
and copperas. I crossed Big Barren river in a ferry- 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 453 

boat, where it was about one hundred yards wide ; 
and passed a small village called Bowling Green, 
near which I rode my horse up to the summit of one 
of those high insulated rocky hills, or knobs, which 
overlooked an immense circumference of country, 
spreading around bare and leafless, except where the 
groves appeared, in which there is usually water. 

Fifteen miles from this, induced by the novel cha- 
racter of the county, I put up for several days at the 
house of a pious and worthy rjresbyterian, whence I 
made excursions in all directions through the sur- 
rounding country. Between this and Eed river the 
country had a bare and desolate appearance. Caves 
continued to be numerous, and report made some of 
them places of concealment for the dead bodies of 
certain strangers who had disappeared there. One 
of these lies near the banks of the Red river, and 

belongs to a person of the name of , a man 

of notoriously bad character, and strongly suspected 
even by his neighbours, of having committed a foul 
murder of this kind, which was related to me with 
all its minutiae of horrors. As the man's house stands 
by the road side, I was induced by motives of curi- 
osity to stop and take a peep at him. On my arrival 
I found two persons in conversation under the piaz- 
za, one of whom informed me that he was the land- 
lord. He was dark mulatto, rather above the common 
size, inclining to corpulency, with legs small in pro- 
portion to his size, and walked lame. His countenance 
bespoke a soul capable of deeds of darkness. I had 
not been three minutes in company when he invited 
the other man (who, I understood, was a traveller,) 
and myself to walk back and see his cave, to which 
I immediately consented. The entrance is in the 
j >erpcndicular front of a rock, behind the house; 
has a door with a lock and key to it, and was crowd- 
ed with pots of milk, placed near the running stream. 






454 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

The roof and sides of solid rock were wet, and drip- 
ping with water. Desiring ■ to walk before 

with the lights, I followed with my hand on my pis- 
tol, reconnoitering on every side, and listening to 
his description of its length and extent. After exa- 
mining this horrible vault for forty or fifty yards, 
he declined going any farther, complaining of a rheu- 
matism ; and I now first perceived that the other 
person had stayed behind, and that we two were alone 
together. Confident in my means of self-defence, 
whatever mischief the devil might suggest to him, I 
fixed my eye steadily on his, and observed to him, 
that he could not be ignorant of the reports circula- 
ted about the country relative to this cave. " I 
suppose/' said I, "you know what I mean?" "Yes, 
I understand you," returned he, without appearing 
the least embarrassed, — "that I killed somebody, 
and threw them into this cave. I can tell you the 
whole beginning of that damned lie," said he ; and 
without moving from the spot, he detailed to me a 
long story which would fill half my letter to little 
purpose, and which, with other particulars, I shall 
reserve for your amusement when we meet. I asked 
him why he did not get the cave examined by three 
or four reputable neighbours, whose report might 
rescue his character from the suspicion of having 
committed so horrid a crime. He acknowledged it 
would be well enough to do so, but did not seem to 
think it worth the trouble ; and we returned as we 

advanced, walking before with the lights. 

Whether this man be guilty of the transaction laid 
to his charge, I know not ; but his manners and as- 
pect are such as by no means to allay suspicion. 
***** 

I was now one hundred and eighty miles from 
Nashville, and I was informed not a town or village 
on the whole route. Every day was, however, pro- 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 455 



ducing wonders in the woods, by the progress of ve- 
getation. The blossoms of the sassafras, dog-wood, 
and red-bud, contrasted with the deep and green 
of the poplar and buckeye, enriched the scenery on 
every side ; while the voices of the feathered tribes, 
many of which were new to me and unknown, were 
continually engaging me in the pursuit. Emerging 
from the deep solitude of the forest, the rich green 
of the grain fields, the farm-houses and cabins em- 
bosomed amidst orchards of glowing purple and 
white, gave the sweetest relief to the eye. Not far 
from the foot of a high mountain, called Mulder's- 
hill, I overtook one of those family caravans, so com- 
mon in this country, moving to the westward. The 
procession occupied a length of road, and had a 
formidable appearance, though, as I afterwards un- 
derstood, it was composed of the individuals of only 
a single family. In the front went a waggon drawn 
by four horses, driven by a negro, and filled with 
implements of agriculture ; another heavy loaded 
waggon, with six horses followed, attended by two 
persons ; after which came a numerous and mingled 
group of horses, cows, sheep, hogs, and calves, with 
their bells ; next followed eight boys, mounted 
double, also a negro wench with a white child be- 
fore her ; then the mother, with one child behind her 
and another at the breast; ten or twelve colts 
brought up the rear, now and then plucking her- 
bage and trotting a-head. The father, a fresh, good- 
looking man, informed me, that he was from Wash- 
ington county, in Kentucky, and was going as far as 
Cumberland river ; he had two ropes fixed to the top 
of the waggon, one of which he guided himself, and 
the other was entrusted to his eldest son, to keep it 
from oversetting in ascending the mountain. The 
singular appearance of this moving group, the 
mingled music of the bells, and the shouting of the 
2 n 2 
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I 

456 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

drivers, mixed with the echoes of the mountains, 
joined to the picturesque solitude of the place, and 
various reflections that hurried through my mind, in- 
terested me greatly ; and I kept company with them 
for some time to lend my assistance if necessary. — 
The country now became mountainous, perpetually 
ascending and descending, and about forty-nine 
miles from Danville, I passed through a pigeon roost, 
or rather breeding-place, which continued for three 
miles, and, from information, extended in length for 
more than forty miles. The timber was chiefly 
beech; every tree was loaded with nests, and I 
counted in different places, more than nests on 
a single tree. * * * 

About three weeks ago I wrote to you from Nash- 
ville, enclosing three sheets of drawings, which I 
hope you have received. I was at that time on the 
point of setting out for St. Louis ; but being detained 
a week by constant and heavy rains, and consider- 
ing that it would add four hundred miles to my 
journey, and detain me at least a month, and the 
season to be already far advanced, and no subscrib- 
ers to be expected there, I abandoned the idea, and 
prepared for a journey through the wilderness. I 
was advised by many not to attempt it alone, that 
the Indians were dangerous, the swamps and rivers 
almost impassable without assistance ; and a thou- 
sand other hobjoblins were conjured up to dissuade 
me from going alone. But I weighed all these mat- 
ters in my own mind; and, attributing a great deal of 
this to vulgar fears and exaggerated reports, I equip- 
ped myself for the attempt. I rode an excellent 
horse on which I could depend. I had a loaded pis- 
tol in each pocket, a loaded fowling-piece belted 
across my shoulders, a pound of gunpowder in my 
flask, and five pounds of shot in my belt. I bought 
some biscuit and dried beef, and, on Friday morning, 

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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 457 

May 4, I left Nashville. About half a mile from 
town I observed a poor negro with two wooden legs, 
building himself a cabin in the woods. Supposing 
that this journey might afford you and my friends 
some amusement, I kept a particular account of the 
various occurrences, and shall transcribe some of the 
most interesting, omitting every thing relative to 
my ornithological excursion and discoveries, as more 
suitable for another occasion. Eleven miles from 
Nashville, I came to the Great Harpath, a stream of 
about fifty yards wide, which was running with 
great violence. I could not discover the entrance 
of the ford, owing to the rains and inundations. — 
There was no time to be lost ; I plunged in, and al- 
most immediately my horse was swimming. I set 
his head aslant the current, and being strong, he 
soon landed me on the other side. As the weather was 
warm, I rode in my wet clothes without any incon- 
venience. The country to-day was a perpetual suc- 
cession of steep hills and low bottoms. I crossed ten 
or twelve large creeks, one of which I swam with 
my horse, where he was near being entangled among 
some bad drift wood. Now and then a solitary farm 
opened from the woods, where the negro children 
were running naked about the yards. I also pas- 
sed along the north side of a high hill, where the 
whole timber had been prostrated by some terrible 
hurricane. I lodged this night in a miner's, who 
told me had been engaged in forming no less than 
thirteen companies for hunting mines, all of whom 
had left him. I advised him to follow his farm, 
as the surest vein of ore he could work. Next 
day (Saturday) I first observed the cane growing, 
which increased until the whole woods were full of 
it. The road this day winded along the high ridges 
of the mountains that divide the waters of the Cum- 
berland from those of the Tennessee. I passed few 



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458 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

houses to-day, but met several parties of boatmen 
returning from Natchez and New Orleans, who gave 
me such an account of the road and the difficulties 
they had met with, as served to stiffen my resolu- 
tion to be prepared for every thing. These men 
were as dirty as Hottentots ; their dress, a shirt and 
trousers of canvass, black, greasy, and sometimes in 
tatters; the skin burnt wherever exposed to the 
sun ; each with a budget wrapped up in an old 
blanket ; their beards eighteen days old, added to 
the singularity of their appearance, which was al- 
together savage. These people came from the va- 
rious tributary streams of the Ohio, hired at forty 
or fifty dollars a trip, to return back on their own 
expenses. Some had upwards of eight hundred 
miles to travel. When they come to a stream that 
is unfordable, they coast it for a fallen tree ; if that 
cannot be had, they enter with their budget on their 
head, and, when they lose bottom, drop it on their 
shoulders and take to swimming. They have some- 
times fourteen or fifteen of such streams to pass in 
a day, and marshes of several miles in length, that 
I have never seen equalled in any country. I lodged 
this night at one Dobbins, where ten or twelve of 
these men lay on the floor. As they scrambled up 
in the morning, they very generally complained of 
being unwell, for which they gave an odd reason, — 
lying within doors, it being the first of fifteen nights 
they had been so indulged. Next morning (Sun- 
day), I rode six miles to a man's house of the name 
of Grinder, where our poor friend Lewis perished. a 
In the same room where he expired, I took down 

a " It is hardly necessary to state, that this was the brave and 
enterprising traveller whose journey across the Rocky Moun- 
tains to the Pacific Ocean, has obtained for him well merited 
celebrity. The true cause of his committing the rash deed, so 
feelingly detailed, is not yet known to the public." 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 459 

from Mrs. Grinder the particulars of that melan- 
choly event, which affected me extremely. The 
house or cabin is seventy-two miles from Nashville, 
and is the last white man's as you enter the Indian 
country. Governor Lewis, she said, came thither 
about sunset, alone, and enquired if he could stay 
for the night ; and alighting, brought his saddle into 
the house. He was dressed in a loose gown, white, 
stripped with blue. On being asked if he came 
alone, he replied that there were two servants be- 
hind who would soon be up. He called for some 
spirits, and drank a very little. When the servants 
arrived, one of whom was a negro, he enquired for 
his powder, saying he was sure he had some powder 
in a canister. The servant gave no distinct reply, 
and Lewis, in the meanwhile, walked backwards 
and forwards before the door, talking to himself. — 
Sometimes, she said, he seemed as if he were walk- 
ing up to her, and would suddenly wheel round and 
walk back as fast as he could. Supper being ready, 
he sat down, but had only eaten a few mouthfuls 
when he started up, speaking to himself in a violent 
manner. At three times, she says, she observed his 
face to flush as if it had come on him in a fit. He 
lighted his pipe, and, drawing a chair to the door, sat 
down, saying to Mrs. Grinder in a kind tone of voice, 
Madam, this is a very pleasant evening ! He smoked 
for some time, but quitted his seat and traversed 
the yard as before. He again sat down to his pipe, 
seemed again composed, and casting his eyes wistfully 
towards the west, observed what a sweet evening it 
was. Mrs. Grinder was preparing a bed for him, 
but he said he would sleep on the floor, and desired 
the servants to bring the bear skins and buffalo robe, 
which were immediately spread out for him ; and, 
it being now dusk, the woman went off to the 
kitchen, and the two men to the barn, which stands 

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460 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

about two hundred yards off. The kitchen is only 
a few paces from the room where Lewis was ; and 
the woman being considerably alarmed by the be- 
haviour of her guest, could not sleep, but listened to 
him walking backwards and forwards, she thinks 
for several hours, and talking aloud, as she said, 
like a lawyer. She then heard the report of a pis- 
tol, and something fall heavily on the floor, and the 
t^ords, "O Lord!" Immediately afterwards she 
heard another pistol; and, in a few minutes, she 
heard him at the door calling out, "O Madam! give 
me some water and heal my wounds !" The logs 
being open and unplastered, she saw him stagger 
back, and fall against a stump that stands between 
the kitchen and the room. He crawled for some 
distance, raised himself by the side of a tree, where 
he sat about a minute. He once more got to the 
room; afterwards he came to the kitchen door, but 
did not speak; she then heard him scraping the 
bucket with a gourd for water, but it appeared that 
this cooling element was denied the dying man ! — 
As soon as day broke, and not before, the terror of 
the woman having permitted him to remain for two 
hours in this most deplorable situation, she sent two 
of her children to the barn, her husband not being 
at home, to bring the servants ; and, on going in, 
they found him lying on the bed. He uncovered his 
side, and shewed them where the bullet had entered; 
a piece of the forehead was blown off, and had ex- 
posed the brains without having bled much. He 
begged that they would take his rifle and blow out 
his brains, and he would give them all the money 
he had in his trunk. He often said, "I am no 
coward ; but I am so strong, so hard to die !" He 
begged the servant not to be afraid of him, for that 
he would not hurt him. He expired in about two 
hours, or just as the sun rose above the trees. He 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 461 

lies buried close by the common path, with a few 
loose rails thrown over his grave. I gave Grinder 
money to put a post fence round it, to shelter it 
from the hogs and from the wolves, and he gave me 
his written promise that he would do it. I left this 
place in a very melancholy mood, which was not 
much allayed by the prospect of the gloomy and 
savage wilderness which I was just entering alone. 

I was roused from this melancholy reverie by the 
roaring of Buffalo river, which I forded with consi- 
derable difficulty. I passed two or three solitary 
Indian huts in the course of the day, with a few 
acres of open land at each ; but so wretchedly cul- 
tivated that they just make out to raise maize 
enough to keep in existence. They pointed me out 
the distances by holding up their fingers. This is 
the country of the Chickasaws, though erroneously 
laid down in some maps as that of the Cherosees. 
I slept this night in one of their huts : the Indians 
spread a deer skin for me on the floor ; I made a 
pillow of my portmanteau, and slept tolerably well : 
an old Indian laid himself down near me. * * 

On Monday morning, I rode fifteen miles, and 
stopt at an Indian's to feed my horse. The sight of 
my paroquet brought the whole family around me. 
The women are generally naked, from the middle 
upwards ; and their heads, in many instances, being 
rarely combed, look like a large mop ; they have a 
yard or two of blue cloth, wrapt round by way of a 
petticoat, that reaches to their knees — the boys were 
generally naked, except a kind of bag of blue cloth 
by way of fig-leaf. Some of the women have a short 
jacket, with the sleeves drawn over their naked 
body, and a rag of a blanket is a general appendage. 
I met to-day two officers of the United States army, 
who gave me a better account of the road than I had 
received. I passed through many bad swamps to- 

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462 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

day ; and about five in the evening came to the 
banks of the Tennessee, which was swelled by the 
rains, and is about half a mile wide thirty miles be- 
low the Muscle shoals, and just below a long island 
laid down in your small map. A growth of canes 
of twenty and thirty feet high cover the low bot- 
toms ; and these cane swamps are the gloomiest and 
most desolate looking places imaginable. I hailed 
for the boat as long as it was light, without effect ; 
I then sought out a place to encamp, kindled a large 
fire, stript the canes from my horse, eat a bit of sup- 
per, and laid down to sleep ; listening to the owls, 
and the chuck -wills -widow, a kind of whip-poor-will, 
that is very numerous here. — I got up several times 
during the night to recruit my fire and see how my 
horse did ; and but for the gnats, would have slept 
tolerably well. These gigantic woods have a singu- 
lar effect by the light of a large fire ; the whole scene 
being circumscribed by impenetrable darkness, ex- 
cept that in front, where every leaf is strongly defined^ 
and deeply shaded. In the morning I hunted until six 
when I again renewed my shoutings for the boa 
and it was not until near eleven that it made; 
appearance. I was so enraged at the delay,;., 
had I not been cumbered with baggage, I bel^ 
should have ventured to swim the river. Invented 
my indignation on the owner of the boat, w ^o was a 
half breed, threatening to punish him, and advise 
every traveller I met to take the upper ferry. * * 
The country now assumed a new appearance; no 
brush-wood or fallen timber; one could see a mile 
through the woods, which were covered with high 
grass fit for mowing. These woods are burnt every 
spring, and thus are kept so remarkably clean that 
they look like noblemen's most elegant parks. — 
A profusion of flowers, altogether new to me, and 
some of them very elegant, presented themselves to 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 463 

my view as I rode along. This must be a heavenly- 
place for the botanist. The most observable of these 
flowers was a kind of sweet-william, of all tints, from 
white to the deepest crimson ; a superb thistle, the 
most beautiful that I had ever seen ; a species of 
passion flower, very beautiful ; a stately plant of the 
sun-flower, the bottom of the deepest orange, and 
the radiating petals bright carmine, the breadth 
about four inches ; a large white flower, like a deer's 
tail; great quantities of the sensitive plant, that 
shrunk instantly on being touched, covered the 
ground in some places. Almost every flower was 
new to me, except the Carolina pink-root and 
Columbo, which grew in abundance on every side. 
At Bearcreek, which is a large and rapid stream, I 
first observed the Indian boys with their blow-guns. 
These are tubes of cane, seven feet long, and per- 
fectly straight when well made. The arrows are 
made of slender slips of cane, twisted and straightened 
before the fire, and covered for several inches at one 
nd with the down of thistles, in a spiral form, so as 
0t to enter the tube. By a puff, they can send 
fc with such violence, as to enter the body of a 
^dge twenty yards off. I set several of them 
a . _ :ing birds, by promises of reward, but not one 
of the i could succeed. I also tried some of the 
blow-guns myself, but found them generally defective 
in straightness. — I met six parties of boatmen to- 
day, and many straggling Indians, and encamped 
about sun- set, near a small brook, where I shot a 
turkey; and on returning to my fire found four 
boatmen, who stayed by me all night, and helped me 
to pick the bones of the turkey. In the morning I 
heard the turkeys gobbling all around me, but not 
wishing to leave my horse, having no great faith in 
my guests' honesty, I proceeded on my journey. * * 
This day, Wednesday, I passed through the most 

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464 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

horrid swamps I had ever seen. These are covered 
with a prodigious growth of canes and high woods, 
which together, shut out almost the whole light of day 
from my eyes for miles. The banks of the deep and 
sluggish creeks, that occupy the centre, are precipi- 
tous ; where I had often to plunge my horse seven feet 
down, into a bed of deep clay, up to his belly, from 
which nothing but great strength and exertion could 
have rescued him ; the opposite shore was equally 
bad and beggars all description. For an extent of 
several miles, on both sides of these creeks, the dark- 
ness of night obscures every object around. * * 

About half an hour before sunset ; being within 
sight of the Indian's where I intended to lodge, the 
evening being perfectly clear and calm, I laid the 
reins on my horse's neck, to listen to a mocking- 
bird, the first I had heard in the western country, 
which, perched on the top of a dead tree before the 
door, was pouring out a torrent of melody. I think 
I never heard so excellent a performer. I had 
alighted, and was fastening my horse, when hearing 
the report of a rifle immediately beside me, I looked 
up and saw the poor mocking-bird fluttering to the 
ground. One of the savages had marked his eleva- 
tion, and barbarously shot him. I hastened over 
into the yard, and walking up to him, told him that 
was bad, very bad ! — that this poor bird had come 
from a far-distant country to sing to him, and that 
in return he had cruelly killed him, I told him the 
Great Spirit was offended with such cruelty, and 
that he would loose many a deer for doing so. The 
old Indian, father-in-law to the bird-killer, under- 
standing by the negro interpreter what I said, 
replied, that when these birds came singing and 
making a noise all day near the house somebody will 
surely die — which is exactly what an old superstiti- 
ous German, near Hampton, Virginia, once told 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 465 

me. This Indian bird killer had married the two 
eldest daughters of the old Indian, and presented 
one of them with the bird he had killed. * 

On Saturday, I passed a number of most execrable 
swamps; the weather was extremely warm, and I 
had been attacked by something like the dysentery, 
which occasioned a constant burning thirst, and 
weakened me greatly. I stopped this day frequently 
to wash my head and throat in the water, to allay 
the burning thirst ; and, putting on my hat without 
wiping, received considerable relief from it. Since 
crossing the Tenessee, the woods have been inter- 
spersed with pines, and the soil has become more 
sandy. This day I met a Captain Hughes, a travel- 
ler, on his return from Santa Fee. My complaint 
increased so much, that I could scarcely sit on horse- 
back ; and, all night, my mouth and throat were 
parched with a burning thirst and fever. On Sun- 
day, I bought some raw eggs, which I ate, and 
repeated the dose at mid-day and towards evening, 
and found great benefit from this simple remedy. I 
enquired all along the road, for fresh eggs, and for 
nearly a week, made them almost my sole food, till I 
completed my cure. The water in these cane swamps 
is little better than poison ; and, under the heat of 
a burning sun, and the fatigue of travelling, it is 
difficult to repress the urgent calls of thirst. On the 
Wednesday following I was assailed by a tremendous 
storm of rain, wind, and lightning, until I and my 
horse were blinded by the deluge, and, unable to go 
on, I sought the first most open place, and dismount- 
ing, stood half an hour under the most profuse 
heavenly shower-bath I ever enjoyed. The roaring 
of the storm was terrible ; several trees around me 
were broken off, and torn up by the roots, and those 
that stood were bent almost to the ground ; limbs of 
trees, of several hundred-weight, tlew past, within a 

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466 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

few yards of me, and I was astonished how I escaped. 
I would rather take my chance in a field of battle, 
than in such a tornado again. 

On the fourteenth day of my journey, at noon, I 
arrived at this place, [Natchez, Mississippi terri- 
tory] having overcome every obstacle, alone, and 
without being acquainted with the country; and, 
what surprised the boatmen more, without whiskey. 
On an average, I met from forty to sixty boatmen 
every day, returning from this place and New Orleans. 
The Chickasaws are a friendly, inoffensive people, 
and the Chactaws, though more reserved, are equally 
harmless. Both of them treated me with civility, 
though I several times had occasion to pass through 
their camps, where many of them were drunk. The 
paroquet which I carried with me was a continual 
fund of amusement to all ages of these people ; and, 
as they crowded round to look at it, gave me an 
opportunity of studying their physiognomies with- 
out breach of good manners. * * * 
Yours, &c, 

ALEX. WILSON. 



[The following extracts from his Journal, kept during this, his 
most hazardous and extensive journey, given by his American 
biographer, present the reader with a fair specimen of the 
varied treatment that he met with—sometimes civil and en- 
couraging, sometimes harsh and forbidding — according to*the 
intellect and disposition of those he encountered.] 

March 9. — Visited a number of the literati and 
wealthy of Cincinnati, who all told me that they 
would think of it ; viz. , of subscribing : they are a 
very thoughtful people. 

March 17. — Rained and hailed all last night. Set 
off at eight o'clock, after emptying my boat of the 
deluge of water ; rowed hard all day ; at noon re- 
cruited myself with some biscuits, cheese, and Amer- 
ican wine ; reach the falls ; night sets in ; hear the 



MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 467 

roaring of the rapids; after excessive hard work, 
arrived at Bear Grass Creek, and fastened my boat 
to a Kentucky one ; take my baggage, and grope 
my way to Louisville ; put up at the Indian Queen 
tavern, and gladly sit down to rest myself. 

March 18. — Eose quite refreshed. Found a num- 
ber of land speculators here; titles to lands in Ken- 
tucky subject to great dispute. 

March 20. — Set out this afternoon with the gun ; 
killed nothing new. People in taverns here devour 
their meals ; many shop-keepers board in taverns ; 
also boat-men, land -speculators, merchants, &c. No 
naturalist to keep me company. 

Good country this for lazy fellows: they plant 
corn, turn their pigs into the woods, and in the au- 
tumn feed upon corn and pork : they lounge about 
the rest of the year. 

March 24 Weather cool. Walked to Shebby- 

ville to breakfast. Passed some miserable log-houses 
in the midst of rich fields. Called at 'Squire C.'s, 
who was rolling logs ; sat down beside him, but was 
not invited in, though it was about noon. 

March 29.— Finding my baggage not likely to 
come on, I set out from Frankfort to Lexington. 
The woods swarm with pigs, squirrels, and wood- 
peckers. Arrived exceedingly fatigued. 

Wherever you go, you hear people talking of buy- 
ing and selling land ; no readers, all traders. — The 
Yankees, wherever you find them, are all traders ; 
found one here, a house-carpenter, who came from 
Massachusetts, and brought some barrels of apples 
down the river from Pennsylvania to this town, 
where he employs the negro women to hawk them 
about the streets, at thirty-seven and a half cents 
per dozen. 

Restless, speculating mortals here, full of Law. 



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468 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

suits; no great readers, even of politics or news- 
papers. 

The sweet courtesies of life, the innumerable ci- 
vilities in deeds and conversation, which cost one so 
little, are seldom found here. Every man you 
meet has either some land to buy or sell, some law- 
suit, some coarse hemp, or corn to dispose of, and, 
if the conversation do not lead to any of these, he 
will force it. Strangers here receive less civility 
than in any place I have been in. The respect due 
to the fatigues and privations of travellers is no 
where given, because every one has met with as 
much, and thinks he has seen more, than any other. 
No one listens to the adventures of another without 
interrupting the narrative with his own ; so that in- 
stead of an auditor, he becomes a competitor in ad- 
venture-telling. So many adventurers also, con- 
tinually wandering about here, injure the manners 
of the people ; for avarice and knavery prey most 
freely and safely upon passengers whom they may 
never meet again. 

These few observations are written in Salter 
White's garret, with little or no fire, wood being a 
scarce article here, the forest being a full half mile 
distant ! 

April 9. — Court held to-day, large concourse of 
people ; not less than one thousand horses in town, 
hitched to the side posts ; no food for them all day. 
Horses selling by auction. Negro women sold some 
way. My reflections while standing by and hearing 
her cried : ' ' Three hundred and twenty-five dollars 
for this woman and boy! going! going!" Woman 
and boy afterwards weep. Damned, damned slavery ! 
This is one infernal custom which the Virginians 
have brought into this country. Rude and barbar- 
ous appearance of the crowd, llopkin's double 
cutters much wanted here. 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 469 

April 10. — Was introduced to several young ladies 
this afternoon, whose agreeable society formed a 
most welcome contrast to that of the lower orders of 

the other sex. Mrs. , an amiable, excellent 

lady: think that savage ignorance, rudeness, and 
boorishness, was never so contrasted by female sweet- 
ness, affability, and intelligence. 

April 12. — Went this evening to drink tea with 
Mr. ; was introduced to Mrs. , a most love- 
ly, accomplished, and interesting woman. Her good 
sense and lively intelligence, of a cast far superior 
to that of almost any woman I have ever seen. She 
is most unfortunately unwell, with a nervous com- 
plaint, which affects her head. She told me, most 
feelingly, that the Spring, which brings joy to every 
other being, brings sorrow to her, for in winter she 
is always well. 

April 25. — Breakfasted at Walton's, thirteen miles 
from Nashville. This place is a fine rich hollow, 
watered by a charming clear creek, that never fails. 
Went up to Madison's lick, where I shot three paro- 
quets and some small birds. 

April 28. — -Set out early, the hospitable landlord, 
Isaac Walton, refusing to take anything for my fare , 
and that of my horse, saying, " You seem to be tra- 
velling for the good of the world, and I cannot, I 
will not, charge you anything. Whenever you 
come this way, call and stay with me ; you shall be 
welcome." This is the first instance of such hospi- 
tality which I have met with in the United States. 

Wednesday, May 27 Left Natchez, after procur- 
ing twelve subscribers ; and having received a kind 
letter of invitation from Wm. Dunbar, Esq. I availed 
myself of his goodness, and rode nine miles along 
the usual road to his house ; where, though confined 
to his bed by a severe indisposition, I was received 
with great hospitality and kindness ; had a neat bed- 
2 E 

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470 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

room assigned to me, and was requested to consider 
myself as at home, during the time I should find it 
convenient to stay in exploring this part of the 
country ! — 



TO MR. THOMAS CRICHTON, PAISLEY. 

Philadelphia, Oct. 28, 1811. 

Dear Sir, — I received your kind letter of May 31 , 
with a copy of the Library, both extremely agreeable 
to me, and interesting to one, who for seventeen years 
had heard nothing concerning you, but who had 
neither forgot you, nor the many friendly acts he 
had experienced from you. I have read your poem 
several times. It embraces a wide range of subjects, 
and contains much excellent sentiment, with several 
well drawn sketches, among which that of Chloe, the 
novel reader, is conspicuous and just. To the prayer 
of the last eight lines I most heartily say — amen. 

I thank you for the information you have given 
me of my old friends, Neilson, Kennedy, Pick en, &c, 
and am glad to find that amidst the deaths, disasters, 
and convulsions of domestic life, your merit continues 
to meet its reward. The contrast between your life 
and mine, during the last twenty years, has been 
great ; yet I much question whether, with both in 
perspective, I should have been willing to exchange 
fates, and I am sure you never would ; so neither of 
us ought to complain. 

While every letter I receive from Britain acknow- 
ledges the general desolation of trade and the suffer- 
ings of its manufacturers, I see nothing around me 
in this happy country but peace, prosperity, and 
abundance. Our merchants indeed have experienced 
great embarrassments, but, generally speaking, the 
country is flourishing. The census of our population 
amounts to upwards of seven millions, nearly double 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 471 

to what it was when I first landed in America. What 
nation on earth can produce a parallel to this ? 

My dear Sir, I cannot recall to my mind some of 
our social interviews without a smile. You found 
me in early life an enthusiastic young man, pursuing 
what I thought right without waiting to consider its 
expediency, and frequently suffering (and that feel- 
ingly too), for my temerity. At present I have the 
same ardour in the pursuit of my object, but the 
object is selected with more discretion. 

If you see my old friend David Brodie, (for I un- 
derstand that he still treads this earth, in propria 
persona,) present him with my respects. He and I 
mutually studied each other's characters for some 
time, with the laudable design of telling each other 
all we knew ridiculous and contemptible of each 
other. My report was made first, and in full detail ; 
David's never made its appearance, and so I lost a 
very favourable opportunity of knowing my own 
faults. I suppose he found me so heterogeneous and 
contradictory — so confounded bad, and entangled, 
that he did not know at which end to begin. 

My dear Sir, I shall be always glad to hear from 
you, when you find convenient to write, and beg you 
would convey my sincere respects to the surviving 
friends you mention, particularly to Mr. M'Gavin, 
and believe me with great truth, 
Dear Sir, 

Your most obliged friend, 
ALEX. WILSON. 



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472 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

ORIGINAL PREFACE TO THE ORNITHOLOGY. 3 

The whole use of a Preface seems to be, either to 
elucidate the nature and origin of the work, or to 
invoke the clemency of the reader. Such observa- 
tions as have been thought necessary for the former, 
will be found in the Introduction ; extremely solici- 

a The first volume of our poet's great work, was ushered into 
the world with the above beautiful and exquisite address to the 
reader. The other volumes had also prefaces of nearly equal 
beauty, and from these and the Introduction we need make no 
apology for quoting the following splendid passages, to which, 
with the original preface, can scarcely be found finer passages, 
for elegance of language and graceful ease, in the whole range of 
English literature. In the Introduction he thus explains his 
praiseworthy motives : — 

" A wish to draw the attention of my fellow citizens from the 
discordant jarrings of politics, to a contemplation of the grandeur, 
harmony, and wonderful variety of nature, exhibited in this 
beautiful portion of the animal economy, are my principal and 
almost only motives in the present undertaking. I will not deny 
that there may also be other inclinations. Biased almost from 
infancy by a fondness for birds, and little less than an enthusiast 
after them, I feel happy to communicate my observations to 
others." From the preface to the third volume : — "Books on 
natural history, calculated to improve the mind, to enlarge the 
understanding, and better the heart, as they are friends to the 
whole human race, are generally welcomed by people of all par- 
ties. They may be compared to those benevolent and amiable 
beings who, amidst the tumults and mutual irritations of discor- 
dant friends, kindly step in to reconcile them to each other, by 
leading the discourse to subjects of less moment, but of innocent 
and interesting curiosity, till the mind forgets its perturbations, 
and gradually regains its native repose and composure. So comes, 
in these times of general embarrassment, dispute, and perplexity, 
the graceful and unassuming pages of the ' American Ornitholo- 
gy.' With little to recommend them but the simplicity of truth, 
in some faint imitations of a most glorious and divine Original, 
they may, nevertheless, calm for a time the tumult of the mind, 
communicate agreeable amusement, and suggest hints for instruc- 
tions." The following is from the Preface to the fourth volume: 
— " Is it possible for a rational being to contemplate these scenes 
without interest and admiration ! Innocency has charms that 
arrest almost every beholder, and can we survey the sportive and 
endearing manners of these with indifference ? Men join with 
reverence in praises to the great Creator, and can they listen 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 473 

tous to obtain the latter, I beg leave to relate the 
following anecdote : — 

In one of my late visits to a friend in the country, 
I found their youngest son, a fine boy of eight or 
nine years of age, who usually resides in town for his 
education, just returning from a ramble through the 
neighbouring woods and fields, where he had collect- 
ed a large and very handsome bunch of wild flowers, 
of a great many different colours, and, presenting 
them to his mother, said, with much animation in his 
countenance, "Look, my dear mamma, what beau- 
tiful flowers I have found growing on our place ! — 
Why all the woods are full of them ! red, orange, 
blue, and almost every colour. Oh ! I can gather 
you a whole parcel of them, much handsomer than 
these, all growing in our woods ! Shall I, mamma ? 
Shall I go and bring you more ?" The good woman 
received the bunch of flowers with a smile of affec- 
tionate complacency, and, after admiring for some 
time the beautiful simplicity of nature, gave her 
willing consent, and the little fellow went off, on the 
wings of ecstasy, to execute his delightful commis- 
sion. 

The similarity of this little boy's enthusiasm to my 
own, struck me ; and the reader will need no expla- 
nations of mine to make the application. Should my 
country receive with the same gracious indulgence 
the specimens which I here humbly present her ; 

with contempt to the melodious strains, the hymns of praise, 
which these joyful little creatures offer up every morning to the 
Fountain of light and life ! Who can contemplate unmoved the 
distress of a fond mother for her dying infant ? And has that 
tender mother no claims on our sympathy, who, unprotected her- 
self, prefers death rather than her young should suffer ? Is ten- 
derness of heart, fidelity, and parental affection, only lovely when 
they exist among men ! Oh, no ! It is impossible. Those vir- 
tues that are esteemed the highest ornaments of our nature, seem 
to be emanations from the Divinity himself, and may be traced 
in many of the humblest and least regarded of his creatures.'' 
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474 



MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 



should she express a desire for me to go and bring her 
more, the highest wishes of my ambition will be gra- 
tified ; for, in the language of my little friend, our 
whole woods are full of them, and I can collect hun- 
dreds more, much handsomer than these. 

ALEXANDER WILSOK 

Philadelphia, Oct. I, 1808. 



THE WHITE-HEADED, OR BALD EAGLE. a 

This distinguished bird, as he is the most beautiful 
of his tribe in this part of the world, and the adopted 
emblem of our country, is entitled to particular no- 
tice. The celebrated cataract of Niagara is a noted 
place of resort for the bald eagle, as well on account 
of the fish procured there, as for the numerous car- 
cases of squirrels, deer, bears, and various other 
animals, that, in their attempts to cross the river 
above the falls, have been dragged into the current, 
and precipitated down that tremendous gulf, where, 
among the rocks that bound the rapids below, they 
furnish a rich repast for the vulture, the raven, and 
the bald eagle, the subject of the present account. 
He has been long known to naturalists, being com- 
mon to both continents, and occasionally met with 
from a very high northern latitude to the borders of 
the torrid zone, but chiefly in the vicinity of the sea, 
and along the shores and cliffs of our lakes and large 
rivers. Formed by nature for braving the severest 
cold, feeding equally on the produce of the sea and 

a As illustrative and explanatory of our vignette, and as a spe- 
cimen of the " American Ornithology," we extract for the benefit 
of the reader, who may not have in his possession that splendid 
work, the complete description of this beautiful and noble bird. 
Wilson seems to have had a particular love for the bald eagle, for 
we find him writing as follows to Mr. Lawson ;— " I hope you get 
on courageously with the eagle ; let no expense deter you from 
giving it the finest and most masterly touches of your graver." 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 475 



of the land, possessing powers of flight capable of 
outstripping even the tempests themselves, unawed 
by anything but man, and, from the ethereal heights 
to which he soars, looking abroad at one glance on 
an immeasurable expanse of forests, fields, lakes, and 
ocean deep below him, he appears indifferent to the 
little localities of change of seasons, as in a few mi- 
nutes he can pass from Summer to Winter, from the 
lower to the higher regions of the atmosphere, the 
abode of eternal cold, and from thence descend at 
will to the torrid or the artic regions of the earth. 
He is, therefore, found at all seasons in the countries 
he inhabits; but prefers such places as have been 
mentioned above, from the great partiality he has 
for fish. 

In procuring these, he displays, in a very singular 
manner, the genius and energy of his character, 
which is fierce, contemplative, daring, and tyranni- 
cal ; attributes not exerted but on particular occa- 
sions, but when put forth, overpowering all opposi- 
tion. Elevated on the high dead limb of some 
gigantic tree that commands a wide view of the 
neighbouring shore and ocean, he seems calmly to 
contemplate the motions of the various feathered 
tribes that pursue their busy avocations below ; the 
snow-white gulls slowly winnowing the air ; the busy 
tringse coursing along the sands; trains of ducks 
streaming over the surface; silent and watchful 
cranes intent and wading ; clamorous crows ; and all 
the winged multitudes that subsist by the bounty of 
this vast liquid magazine of nature. High over all 
these hovers one whose action instantly arrests his 
whole attention. By his wide curvature of wing, 
and sudden suspension in air, he knows him to be 
the fish-hawk, settling over some devoted victim of 
the deep. His eye kindles at the sight, and balanc- 
ing himself with half-opened wings on the branch, 



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476 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

he watches the result. Down, rapid as an arrow 
from heaven, descends the distant object of his at- 
tention, the roar of its wings reaching the ear as it 
disappears in the deep, making the surges foam 
around. At this moment the eager looks of the 
eagle are all ardour; and, levelling his neck for 
flight, he sees the fish-hawk once more emerge, strug- 
gling with his prey, and mounting in the air with 
screams of exultation. These are the signals for our 
hero, who, launching into the air, instantly gives 
chase, and soon gains on the fish-hawk ; each exerts 
his utmost to mount above the other, displaying in 
these recontres the most elegant and sublime aerial 
evolutions. The unencumbered eagle rapidly ad- 
vances, and is just on the point of reaching his op- 
ponent, when, with a sudden scream, probably of 
despair and honest execration, the latter drops his 
fish : the eagle, poising himself for a moment, as if to 
take a more certain aim, descends like a whirlwind, 
snatches it in his grasp ere it reaches the water, 
and bears his ill-gotten booty silently away to the 
woods." 

These predatory attacks and defensive manoeuvres 
of the eagle and the fish-hawk, are matters of daily 
observation along the whole of our sea-board, from 
Georgia to New England, and frequently excite 
great interest in the spectators. Sympathy, how- 
ever, on this as on most other occasions, generally 
sides with the honest and laborious sufferer, in op- 
position to the attacks of power, injustice, and ra- 
pacity, qualities for which our hero is so generally 
notorious, and which, in his superior, man, are cer- 
tainly detestable. As for the feelings of the poor 
fish, they seem altogether out of the question. 

When driven, as he sometimes is, by the com- 
bined courage and perseverance of the fish-hawks, 
from their neighbourhood, and forced to hunt for 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 477 

himself, he retires more inland, in search of young 
pigs, of which he destroys in great numbers. In 
the lower parts of Virginia and North Carolina, 
where the inhabitants raise vast herds of these ani- 
mals, complaints of this kind are very general 
against him. He also destroys young lambs in the 
early part of Spring; and will sometimes attack old 
sickly sheep, aiming furiously at their eyes. 

In corroboration of the remarks I have myself 
made on the manners of the bald-eagle, many ac- 
counts have reached me from various persons of 
respectability, living on or near our sea-coast. The 
substance of these I shall endeavour to incorporate 
with the present account. 

Mr. John L. Gardiner, who resides on an island 
of three thousand acres, about three miles from the 
eastern point of Long Island, from which it is separ- 
ated by Gardiner's Bay, and who has consequently 
many opportunities of observing the habits of these 
birds, has favoured me with a number of interesting 
particulars on this subject; for which I beg leave 
thus publicly to return my grateful acknowledg- 
ment. 

" The bald-eagles," says this gentleman, " remain 
on this island during the whole Winter. They can 
be most easily discovered on evenings by their loud 
snoring, while asleep on high oak trees ; and, when 
awake, their hearing seems to be nearly as good as 
their sight. I think I mentioned to you, that I had 
myself seen one flying with a lamb ten days old, and 
which it dropped on the ground from about ten to 
twelve feet high. The struggling of the lamb, more 
than its weight, prevented its carrying it away. My 
running, hallooing, and being very near, might pre- 
vent it completing its design. It had broke the 
back in the act of seizing it, and I was under the ne- 
cessity of killing it out-right, to prevent its misery. 



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478 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

The lamb's dam seemed astonished to see its inno- 
cent offspring borne off into the air by a bird. 

" I was lately told," continues Mr. Gardiner, "by 
a man of truth, that he saw an eagle rob a hawk of 
its fish, and the hawk seemed so enraged as to fly 
down at the eagle, while the eagle very deliberately, 
in the air, threw himself partly over on his back, 
and, while he grasped with one foot the fish, ex- 
tended the other to threaten or seize the hawk. 
I have known several hawks unite to attack the 
eagle, but never knew a single one do it. The eagle 
seems to regard the hawks as the hawks do the 
king-birds, only as teasing, troublesome fellows." 

Erom the same intelligent and obliging friend, I 
lately received a well preserved skin of the bald- 
eagle, which, from its appearance, and the note ac- 
companying it, seems to have belonged to a very for- 
midable individual. "It was shot," says Mr. Gar- 
diner, "last winter, on this island, and weighed 
thirteen pounds, measured three feet in length, and 
seven from tip to tip of the expanded wings ; was 
extremely fierce looking, — though wounded, would 
turn his back to no one ; fastened his claws into the 
head of a dog, and was with difficulty disengaged. 
I have rode on horseback within five or six rods of 
one, who, by his bold demeanour, raising his fea- 
thers, &c, seemed willingly to dispute the ground 
with its owner. The crop of the present was full 
of mutton, from my part blood Merinos ; and his 
intestines contained feathers, which he probably de- 
voured with a duck, or winter gull, as I observed 
an entire foot, and leg of some water fowl. I had 
two killed previous to this, which weighed ten 
pounds avoirdupois each." 

The intrepidity of character, mentioned above, 
may be further illustrated by the following fact, 
which occurred a few years ago, near Great Egg 

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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 479 

Harbour, New Jersey. A woman, who happened 
to be weeding in the garden, had set her child down 
near, to amuse itself while she was at work ; when 
a sudden and extraordinary rushing sound, and a 
scream from her child, alarmed her, and, starting 
up, she beheld the infant thrown down, and dragged 
some feet, and a large bald-eagle bearing off a frag- 
ment of its frock, which being the only part seized, 
and giving way, providentially saved the life of the 
infant. 

The appetite of the bald-eagle, though habituated 
to long fasting, is of the most voracious and often 
the most indelicate kind. Fish, when he can obtain 
them, are preferred to all other food. Young lambs 
and pigs are dainty morsels, and made free with on 
all favourable occasions. Ducks, geese, gulls, and 
other sea-fowl, are also seized with avidity. The 
most putrid carrion, when nothing better can be 
had, is acceptable ; and the collected groups of gor- 
mandising vultures, on the approach of this dignified 
personage, instantly disperse, and make way for 
their master, waiting his departure in sullen silence 
and at a respectable distance, on the adjacent trees. 

In one of those partial migrations of tree squirrels 
that sometimes take place in our western forests, 
many thousands of them were drowned in attempt- 
ing to cross the Ohio ; and at a certain place, not far 
from Wheeling, a prodigious number of their dead 
bodies were floated to the shore by an eddy. Here 
the vultures assembled in great force, and had re- 
galed themselves for some time, when a bald-eagle 
made his appearance, and took sole possession of the 
premises, keeping the whole vultures at their proper 
distance for several days. He has also been seen navi- 
gating the same river on a floating carrion, though 
scarcely raised above the surface of the water, and 
tugging at the carcass, regardless of snags, sawers, 



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480 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

planters, or shallows. He sometimes carries his 
tyranny to great extremes against the vultures. In 
hard times, when food happens to be scarce, should 
he accidently meet with one of these who has its craw 
crammed with carrion, he attacks it fiercely in the 
air ; the cowardly vulture instantly disgorges, and 
the delicious contents are snatched up by the eagle 
before they reach the ground. 

The nest of this species is generally fixed on a 
very large and lofty tree, often in a swamp or mor- 
ass, and difficult to be ascended. On some noted 
tree of this description, often a pine or cypress, the 
bald-eagle builds, year after year, for a long series 
of years. When both male and female have been 
shot from the nest, another pair has soon after taken 
possession. The nest is large, being added to and 
repaired every season, until it becomes a black pro- 
minent mass, observable at a considerable distance. 
It is formed of large sticks, sods, earthy rubbish, 
hay, moss, &c. Many have stated to me that the 
female lays first a single egg, and that, after having 
sat on it for some time, she lays another : when the 
first is hatched, the warmth of that, it is pretended, 
hatches the other. Whether this be correct or not, 
I cannot determine ; but a very respectable gentle- 
man of Virginia assured me, that he saw a large 
tree cut down, containing the nest of a bald-eagle, 
in which were two young, one of which appeared 
nearly three times as large as the other. As a proof 
of their attachment to their young, a person near 
Norfolk informed me, that in clearing a piece of 
wood on his place, they met with a large dead pine 
tree, on w T hich was a bald-eagle's nest and young. 
The tree being on fire more than half way up, and 
the flames rapidly ascending, the parent eagle darted 
around and among the flames, until her plumage 
was so much injured, that it was with difficulty she 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 481 



could make her escape, and even then, she several 
times attempted to return to relieve her offspring. 

No bird provides more abundantly for its young 
than the bald-eagle. Fish are daily carried thither 
in numbers, so that they sometimes lie scattered 
round the tree, and the putrid smell of the nest may 
be distinguished at the distance of several hundred 
yards. The young are at first covered with thick 
whitish or cream coloured cottony down ; they gra- 
dually become of a grey colour as their plumage 
developes itself, continue of the brown-grey until 
the third year, when the white begins to make its 
appearance on the head, neck, tail coverts, and tail; 
these by the end of the fourth year are completely 
white, or very slightly tinged with cream ; the eye 
also is at first hazel, but gradually brightens into a 
brilliant straw colour, with the white plumage of the 
head. Such at least was the gradual progress of 
this change, witnessed by myself, on a very fine spe- 
cimen brought up by a gentlemaD , a friend of mine, 
who, for a considerable time, believed it to be what 
is usually called the grey eagle, and was much sur- 
prised at the gradual metamorphosis. This will 
account for the circumstance, so frequently observ- 
ed, of the grey and white headed eagle being seen 
together, both being in fact the same species, in 
different stages of colour, according to their differ- 
ence of age. 

The flight of the bald-eagle, when taken into con- 
sideration with the ardour and energy of his char- 
acter, is noble and interesting. Sometimes the 
human eye can just discern him, like a minute 
speck, moving in slow curvatures along the face of 
the heavens, as if reconnoitering the eartli at that 
immense distance. Sometimes he glides along in a 
direct horizontal line, at a vast height, with expanded 
and unmoving wings, till he gradually disappears in 



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482 MISCELLANEOUS'PRQSE WRITINGS. 

the distant blue ether. Seen gliding in easy circles 
over the high shores and mountainous cliffs that 
tower above the Hudson and Susquehanna, he at- 
tracts the eye of the intelligent voyager, and adds 
great interest to the scenery. At the great cataract 
of Niagara, already mentioned, there rises from the 
gulph into which the Falls of the Horse- Shoe de- 
scends, a stupendous column of smoke, or spray, 
reaching to the heavens, and moving off in large 
black clouds, according to the direction of the wind, 
forming a very striking and majestic appearance. 
The eagles are here seen sailing about, sometimes 
losing themselves in this thick column, and again 
reappearing in another place, with such ease and 
elegance of motion, as renders the whole truly sub- 
lime. 

High o'er the watery uproar, silent seen, 
Sailing sedate in majesty serene, 
Now midst the pillar'd spray sublimely lost, 
And now, emerging, down the Rapids tost, 
Glides the bald eagle, gazing calm and slow, 
O'er all the horrors of the scene below ; 
Intent alone to sate himself with blood, 
From the torn victims of the raging flood. 

The white-headed eagle is three feet long, and 
seven feet in extent ; the bill is of a rich yellow ; 
cere the same, slightly tinged with green ; mouth, 
flesh-coloured ; tip of the tongue, bluish-black ; the 
head, chief part of the neck, vent, tail coverts, and 
tail, are white in the perfect, on old birds of both 
sexes, — in those under three years of age, these 
parts are of a grey -brown : the rest of the plumage 
is deep dark brown, each feather tipt with pale 
brown, lightest on the shoulder of the wing, and 
darkest towards its extremities. The conformation 
of the wing is admirably adapted for the support of 
so large a bird ; it measures two feet in breadth on 
the greater quills, and sixteen inches on the lesser ; 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 483 

the longest primaries are twenty inches in length, 
and upwards of one inch in circumference where 
they enter the skin; the broadest secondaries are 
three inches in breadth across the vane ; the scapulars 
are very large and broad, spreading from the back to 
the wing, to prevent the air from passing through ; 
another range of broad flat feathers, from three to 
ten inches in length, also extend from the lower 
part of the breast to the wing below, for the same 
purpose ; between these lies a deep triangular cavity; 
the thighs are remarkably thick, strong, and mus- 
cular, covered with long feathers pointing back- 
wards, usually called the femoral feathers ; the legs, 
which are covered half way below the knee, before, 
with dark brown downy feathers, are of a rich yellow, 
the colour of ripe Indian corn ; feet the same ; claws, 
blue-black, very large and strong, particularly the 
inner one, which is considerably the largest; soles, 
very rough and warty; the eye is sunk under a 
bony, or cartilaginous projection, of a pale yellow 
colour, and is turned considerably forwards, not 
standing parallel with the cheeks, the iris is of a 
bright straw colour, pupil, black. 

The male is generally two or three inches shorter 
than the female; the white on the head, neck, and 
tail, being more tinged with yellowish, and its whole 
appearance less formidable ; the brown plumage is 
also lighter, and the bird itself less daring than the 
female, — a circumstance common to almost all birds 
of prey. 

The bird from which the foregoing description 
was taken, was shot near Great Egg Harbour, in the 
month of January. It was in excellent order, and 
weighed about eleven pounds. Dr. S. B. Smith, of 
this city, obliged me with a minute and careful dis- 
section of it, from whose copious and very interest- 
2 e 4 



484 



MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 



ing notes on the subject, I shall extract such remarks 
as are suited to the general reader. 

" The eagle you sent me for dissection was a 
beautiful female. It had two expansions of the 
gullet. The first principally composed of longitu- 
dinal bundles of fibre, in which (as the bird is ra- 
venous and without teeth) large portions of unmas- 
ticated meats are suffered to dissolve before they 
pass to the lower or proper stomach, which is mem- 
branous. I did not receive the bird time enough to 
ascertain whether any chilification was effected by 
the juices from the vessels of this enlargement of 
the oesophagus. I think it probable, that it has also 
a regurgitating, or vomiting power, as the bird con- 
stantly swallows large quantities of indigestible sub- 
stances, such as quills, hairs, &c. In this sac of the 
eagle, I found the quill feathers of the small white 
gull ; and in the true stomach, the tail and some of 
the breast feathers of the same bird, and the dorsal 
vertebrae of a large fish. This excited some surprise, 
until you made me acquainted with the fact of its 
watching the fish-hawks, and robbing them of their 
prey. Thus we see, throughout the whole empire 
of animal life, power is almost always in a state of 
hostility to justice; and of the Deity only can it 
truly be said, that justice is commensurate with 
power ! 

" The eagle has the several auxiliaries to digestion 
and assimilation in common with man. The liver 
was unusually large in your specimen. It secretes 
bile, which stimulates the intestines, prepares the 
chyle for blood, and by this very secretion of bile, 
(as it is a deeply respiring animal,) separates or re- 
moves some obnoxious principles from the blood. 
(See Dr. Rush's admirable lecture on this important 
viscus in the human subject.) The intestines were 
also large, long, convolate, and supplied with nu- 



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MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 485 

merous lacteal vessels, which differ little from those 
of men's, except in colour, which was transparent. 
The kidneys were large, and seated on each side of 
the vertebrae, near the anus. They are also destined 
to secrete some offensive principles from the blood. 

"The eggs were small and numerous; and, after 
a careful examination, I concluded that no sensible 
increase takes place in them till the particular sea- 
son. This may account for the unusual excitement 
which prevails in these birds in the sexual inter- 
course. Why there are so many eggs, is a mystery. 
It is, perhaps, consistent with the natural law, that 
every thing should be abundant ; but, from this bird, 
it is said, no more than two young are hatched in a 
season, consequently no more eggs are wanted than 
a sufficiency to produce that effect. Are the eggs 
numbered originally, and is there no increase of 
number, but a gradual loss, till all are deposited ? 
If so, the number may correspond to the long life 
and vigorous health of this noble bird. Why there 
are but two young in a season, is easily explained. 
Nature has been studiously parsimonious of her 
physical strength, from whence the tribes of animals 
incapable to resist, derive security and confidence. " 

The eagle is said to live to a great age, — sixty, 
eighty, and as some assert, one hundred years. 
This circumstance is remarkable, when we consider 
the seeming intemperate habits of the bird. Some- 
times fasting, through necessity, for several days, 
and at other times gorging itself with animal food, 
till its craw swells out on the plumage of the part, 
forming a large protuberance on the breast. This, 
however, is its natural food, and for these habits its 
whole organization is particularly adapted. It has not, 
like men, invented rich wines, ardent spirits, and a 
thousand artificial poisons, in the form of soups, sauces 
and ^sweetmeats. Its food is simple, it indulges 
2 e 5 



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486 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WRITINGS. 

freely, uses great exercise, breathes the purest air, 
is healthy, vigorous, and long lived. The lords of 
the creation themselves might derive some useful 
hints from these facts, were they not already, in 
general, too wise, or too proud, to learn from their 
inferiors, the fowls of the air, and beasts of the field ! 



STANZAS, 

WRITTEN ON ALEX. WILSON'S EMIGRATION TO AMERICA. 
BY TANNAHILL. 

O Death ! it's no thy deeds I mourn, 
Though oft my heart-strings thou hast torn, 
'Tis worth and merit left forlorn, 

Life's ill to dree, 
Gars now the pearlie, brackish burn 

Gush frae my e'e. 

Is there wha feels the melting glow 
O' sympathy for ithers woe, 
Come let our tears thegither flow, 

O join my mane! 
For Wilson, worthiest of us a', 

For aye is gane. 

He bravely strave 'gainst fortune's stream, 
While hope held forth ae distant gleam, 
Till dashed, and dashed, time after time, 

On life's rough sea, 
He weeped his thankless native clime, 

And sailed away. 

The patriot bauld, the social brither, 
In him were sweetly joined thegither ; 
He knaves reproved without a swither, 

In keenest satire ; 
And taught what mankind owe each ither, 

As sons of nature. 



© = - © 

VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF WILSON. 487 

If thou hast heard his wee bit wren, 
Wail forth its sorrows through the glen, 
Tell how his warm, descriptive pen 

Has thrilled thy saul ; 
His sensibility sae keen, 

He felt for all. 

Since now he's gane, and Burns is dead 
Ah ! wha will tune the Scottish reed ? 
Her thistle, dowie, hings its head, 

Her harp's unstrung ; 
While mountain, river, loch, an' mead, 

Remain unsung. 

Fareweel, thou much neglected bard, 
These lines will speak my warm regard, 
While strangers on a foreign sward 

Thy worth hold dear, 
Still some kind heart thy name shall guard 

Unsullied here. 

VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF ALEX. WILSON, 

BY THOMAS CRICHTON. 

On Scotia's hills, in youth's bright morn, 

Alexis sung with liveliest glee, 
Though oft Misfortune's sharpest thorn 

Pierced his breast, yet blithe was he. 

Where Cartha rolls her stream along, 
Meandering sweetly through the grove, 

Oft have I listened to his song, 

When arm in arm we wont to rove. 

Sweet stream ! along thy verdant shore, 

From where old Cruickston rears his head, 
Fired with our country's classic lore, 
The charming vales we loved to tread. 
2 F 
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488 VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF WILSON. 

Friend of his youth, the pride of swains, 
Young Damon was, I knew him well ; 

Him mourned the bard in plaintive strains, 
When called to take his last farewell. 

There, too, he sung Matilda's charms, 

A lovely maid who nourished fair; 
But snatched by fortune from his arms, 

His dreams of bliss dissolved in air. 

With those who loved the Scotian song, 

Companions choice, and ever dear, 
The rural walk he would prolong, 

When smiled with joy the genial year. 

With Picken, gayest of the gay, 

Within Edina's ancient walls, 
With friendly strife he used to stray, 

Amid the Pantheon's learned halls. 

While Eben there, in polished lays, 

Brought his loved Earn say's merits forth ; 

Alexis lavished all his praise, 

On Fergusson's unrivalled worth. 

What peals of mirth re-echoed round, 

At the auld carle's pawky tale, 
Where sense, and wit, and charms of sound, 

And Humour's laughing strains prevail. 

Of Wat and Meg the poet sung, 

A hapless pair in wedlock bound ; 
How Meg's incessant scolding tongue 

Dunned Wattie's ears with thund'ring sound. 

But midst his liveliest strains, the bard 
Was clouded oft with Sorrow's gloom, 

When care and want, his sole reward, 

Chased from his cheek Health's rosy bloom. 

==±== = =@ 



VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF WILSON. 489 

A wand'rer o'er fair Scotia's plains, 

With sad affliction pressing sore, 
Britannia's fate, in weeping strains, 

I heard the pensive bard deplore. 

Ardent the patriot's flame he felt, 

With nervous thought poured forth his song, 
Mourned with sad tears a nation's guilt, 

Her deeds of outrage, and of wrong. 

When frantic nations rose to arms, 
He fled from scenes of horrid war — 

From madd'ning Faction's dread alarms, 
To peaceful nations spread afar. 

Atlanta's western shores he sought, 

The wearied pilgrim's safe retreat, 
Where, from Europa's land remote, 

Strangers in kind embraces meet. 

The sons of science there he found, 

There Bartram of sagacious soul ; 
There, Lawson, Bradford, circled round 

The friendly board, the social bowl. 

Through far Columbia's tangled woods, 
And dreadful swamps, Alexis trod, 

Amid her wildest solitudes, 

The pois'nous serpents' dread abode. 

The feathered tribes he there pursued, 

Where danger, with terrific form, 
To stamp his manly ardour, stood 

Amidst the elemental storm. 

To Niagara's torrents wild, 

The bard by ardent fancy wrought : 

Of Genius the un tutor 'd child, 

Stood on its banks, entranced in thought. 



490 VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF WILSON. 

The scene sublime his pencil drew, 

The raging torrent roaring o'er, 
The rocky steep so dread to view, 

The whit'ning foam from shore to shore. 

In that far land he tuned his lyre, 
Inspired with all the patriot's flame, 

With all the warm enthusiast's fire, 
With love of virtue and of fame. 

Columbia mourned the poet's fall, 
With tears of woe bedewed his tomb, 

And crowned his bust in yonder hall 
With laurels of perennial bloom. 

Thou son of Genius and of Song, 

Thy memory I will long revere ; 
Sweet poet of the feathered throng, 

To thee is due this friendly tear. 

VERSES. 

(The following lines are so expressive of Wilson's wish to be 
buried where the birds might sing over his grave, that we cannot 
refrain from copying them. We regret that we are unable to 
give the name of the author.) 

In some wild forest shade, 
Under some spreading oak, or waving pine, 
Or old elm, festooned with the budding vine, 

Let me be laid. 

In this dim lonely grot, 
No foot, intrusive, will disturb my dust ; 
But o'er me songs of the wild birds shall burst, 

Cheering the spot. 

Not amid charnel stones, 
Or coffins dark, and thick with ancient mould, 
With tattered pall, and fringe of cankered gold, 

May rest my bones ; 



r @ 



<§>- 



VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF WILSON. 491. 

But let the dewy rose, 
The snowdrop, and the violet lend perfume 
Above the spot, where, in my grassy tomb 

I take repose. 

Year after year, 
Within the silver birch- tree o'er me hung, 
The chirping wren shall rear her callow young, 

Shall build her dwelling near. 

And ever, at the purple dawning of the day, 
The lark shall chant a pealing song above ; 

And the shrill quail, when eve grows dim and grey, 
Shall pipe her hymn of love. 

The blackbird and the thrush, 
The golden oriole, shall flirt around, 
And waken, with a mellow gush of sound, 

The forest's solemn hush. 

Birds from the distant sea, 
Shall sometimes hither flock, on snowy wings, 
And soar above my dust in airy rings, 

Singing a dirge to me. a 

a It is perhaps gratifying to learn, that his wish has been some- 
what realized ; and that, birds have indeed chanted their " wood- 
notes wild" over his grave. To prove this, we quote the follow- 
ing letter from an American newspaper, entitled " The Saturday 
Bullentine," printed in Philadelphia, April 17, 1S30. "Mr. 
Editor, — I was in the Swedish church-yard, on Sunday morning 
last. A crowd of half a dozen persons, strangers to each other, 
were gathered around the grave of Alexander Wilson, the well- 
known Ornithologist, attentively reading the epitaph. Suddenly 
a blue-bird and his mate flew up into a tree close to the tomb ; 
and sang aloud over our head, — realizing the romantic wish of 
the lamented Wilson, that he might be buried where the birds of 
Spring should warble over his grave ! The touching nature of 
the incident was felt by all who witnessed it. Yours, A." 



•2 P 2 



®- 



GLOSSARY. 



The ch and gh have generally the guttural sound. The sound 
of the English dipthong oo is commonly spelled ou. The 
French u, a sound which often occurs in the Scottish language, 
is marked oo or oi, and sometimes only u, as in gude. The a in 
genuine Scottish words, except when forming a dipthong, or fol- 
lowed by an e mute after a single consonant, sounds generally 
like the broad English a in wall. The Scottish dipthong ae al- 
ways, and the ea very often, sound like the French e masculine. 
The Scottish dipthong ey sounds like the Latin ei. 

As to the words which have more meanings than one, we have 
considered it necessary to give only the meanings in which they 
are employed by the author. 



A- all 

Ablins — perhaps 

Aboon — above 

Ae, ane — one 

Aff— off 

Aft— oft 

Aften — often 

Afore — before 

Ain — own 

Air — early, soon 

Airt — to direct 

Aims — irons 

Aith — oath 

Ait-farle — third part of an oat- 
meal cake 

Aiken — oaken 

Ajee — wrong, to one side, out 
of the ordinary path 

Alake — alas 

Alang — along 

Alangst — ahmgst 

Amaist — almost 

Amang— among 

An' — and, if 

Ance — once 

Aneath — beneath 

Anither — another 

An's — and has 

Antrin— occasional 

Araise — arose 

Aroun' — around 

Asteer— afoot, abroad, moving 

Athort — athwart 

Atween — between 

Aul', auld — old 

A uld-farrant— ingenious, sly, 
crafty 

Aweel, atweel— indeed, truly 

Awa— away 

Awat— I wot 



Awee — for a short time 
Awfu' — awful 
Awse — ashes 
Awsome — frightfully 
Ayont — beyond 

Ba'— ball 

Bairns — children 

Baith— both 

Bane — bone 

Bannock — a thick round oat- 
meal cake 

Bardie— diminutive of bard 

Basht — bruised 

Bashfu' — bashful 

Batter'd — bruised, pasted 

Bauld— bold 

Bauchels — old shoes worn as 
slippers 

Bauldly— boldly 

Bawbies— money, halfpennies 

Beating— part of a weaver's web 

Beden — immediately 

Beekin— basking 

Bedding — bed clothes, &c. 

Behin, behint — behind 

Begoud — began 

Ben — into 

Belang — belong 

Belly-flaught — tanting ; with 
out-stretched arms, suddenly, 
in great haste 

Bethanket — praise be for it 

Beuk — a book 

Bield— a house, shelter 

Bigging — a building, a dwelling 
house 

Bien — comfortable, wealthy 

Billies — young fellows 

Birky — a clever fellow 



GLOSSARY. 



~-@ 



Birring— whirring 

Birslt — burned brown 

Binna — be not 

Bizzan— a bee, a fly 

Blae — of a livid colour 

Blate — bashful 

Blattert— rattled 

Blatter in— rattling 

Blash — the fall of any heavy 
substance into water 

Blauds— large pieces 

Blaw — to blow 

Blawing — blowing 

Blether — a bladder 

Blether— to talk idly 

Blethered— talked idly 

Blethering — talking idly 

Bleeze — a flame 

Bleezing — blazing 

Blin— blind 

Blink — a little time 

Blowt— to throw out anything 
with a sudden force 

Blue — whiskey (a cant term) 

Blude, bluid— blood 

Bocket— vomited 

Bockin, bockan— vomiting 

Bodie — a person, used either in 
contempt or familiarity 

Bodle— a Scottish coin, equiva- 
lent to one-sixth of an Eng- 
lish penny 

Bole — a hole or press in the 
wall, chiefly near the fire- 
place, for holding many things, 
particularly the family lib- 
rary 

Bool— an old man 

Bonny, bonnie— pretty, lovely 

Booze— to tipple, to drink 

Bordert— bordered 

Bore — name of the act of a wea- 
ver turning round his beam 
with woven cloth upon it 

Bouster— a pillow 

'Bout-gates — circuitous ways 

Bra', braw — beautiful, fine 

Brae — the side of a hill 

Braid — broad 

Brak — broke 

Brawly, bra'ly — well, nicely, 
finely, handsomely 

Bree, brue — juice, sauce 

Breeks— breeches 

Brither— brother 

Brogs— small boring instru- 
ments 

Brod— a board, broad 

Brock— a badger 

Brooze— contest 



Brose— a dish made by pouring 
boiling water on oatmeal, and 
stirring it, then adding some 
milk 

Bug — built 

Bum — to hum 

Bumming— humming 

Buneuchs— a laxness, looseness 

Burd — a bird 

Buttl't — a quantity of straw 
bundled 

Burdies — diminutive of burd 

Burn — a rivulet 

Burnies— diminutive of burn 

Burr el — a barrel 

Ca', ca'f— calf 

Ca'd — called 

Caft, coft — bought, got 

Cairns— heaps of stones 

Callan — a boy 

Ca'm— calm 

Cam' — came 

Camsheugh— cross, ill-tempered 

Cankry — crabbedly 

Cankriest — crabbedest 

Canna — cannot 

Canny — cautious 

Canty — merry, cheerful 

Cauld, caul' — cold 

Cauler — quite fresh 

Cawsey, causey — causeway 

Carle — an old man 

Carlings — old women 

Cap — a small wooden dish 

Cap-stane — cope-stone 

Chafts — the chops 

Chanler-chafs— lean and mea- 
gre visaged 

Chaps — young fellows 

Chap — a blow, a knock 

Chappet — have struck 

Chaunerin — murmuring and 
grumbling 

Chappin — striking 

Chaist — pursued 

Cheeps— chirps, supplicatory 
words 

Cheepin — chirping 

Chield, chiel — a young fellow 

Chirt — to squeeze, to press 

Chimly — the grate, fire-place 

China — a kind of silk used for 
webs 

Chirle — a cock's comb 

Chucky — a hen 

Ciners — cinders 

Claes — clothes 

Clachan, claughin— a village 

Claith— cloth 



'© 



©= 



=© 



GLOSSARY. 



497 



Clam — climbed 

Clauts — the hands 

Clautet — scraped, cleaned 

Clashing — wet with water 

Clash— a heap, a large quantity 

Clod— turf, sod 

Closes-passages through houses 
from front to back 

Clootie, cloots — the devil 

Cloots — the feet 

Cloited — tumbled 

Cloorin— striking, murdering 

Clinch — to halt, walk lamely 

Clashes — scandle, on dits 

Clink — a blow, a knock ; a cant 
term for money 

Clinket — snatched quickly 

Clung— empty 

Cluds— clouds 

Cluded— clouded 

Clues — balls of yarn 

Clinking — clanking 

Cowins— fragments of bread 

Cockin— perched up, conse- 
quentially 

Cockernonies — caps, the gather- 
ing of a woman's hair, when 
it is tied up with a snood 

Cog — a wooden dish 

Co'ert — covered 

Co'ering — covering 

Coof — a stupid fellow 

Couped — tumbled 

Cork — a manufacturer (cant 
term) 

Cou'd — could 

Couldna, coudna — could not 

Coups — tumbles, overturns 

Core — a party, a gang 

Cowl — a night-cap 

Cozie — warm, comfortable 

Crack — to converse 

Cracky — talkative 

Craft — a field near a house 

Craws — crows 

Crawing — crowing 

Creeshy— greasy 

Cronie, crony — a companion 

Croon — to moan, to hum a tune 

Crump — to chew any hard 
bread 

Crumpin — hard, brittle 

Cuffets — dim. of cuffs, blows 

Cuist — did cast 

Dab— a proficient 
Dading, daudin — clanking 
Dads — fathers, a familiar term 
Dn ft— foolish, merry, having 
little of reason 



Daffin— merriment 

Daidlin — tippling 

Daized — stupified 

Dang — beat, surpassed 

Darna— dare not 

Daud, dawd — a large piece 

Daudron — slovenly, dirty 

Dautit — fondled, carressed 

Dauner — to wander 

Daunert — wandered 

Daunering — wandei ing 

Daughty — well, able 

Dean — dying 

Deil, deel — the devil 

Deil-be-licket — nothing 

Deil-mak-matter — let the devil 
make matter for that now 

Dementit — stupid 

Devore — devour 

Deuks — ducks 

Den — a place of concealment 

Dinna — do not 

Ding — to overcome, to push, to 
defeat, to excel 

Dish-clout— a cloth for clean- 
ing dishes 

Disputit — disputed 

Dizen — a dozen 

Dight— to wipe, to clean, to rub 

Doited — walked in a stupid or 
deranged manner 

Doitet — stupified 

Doon — done, down 

Doos — doves 

Dously, dowsely — wisely and 
cannily 

Douse, dowse — sober, wise 

Doup— the backside 

Dool — sorrow, to lament 

Doolfu — mournful 

Douk— to dip 

Douket — dipt 

Durk — dirk 
! Duds — rags 
; Duddy— raggy 
' Dugs — dogs 
j Durstna — durst not 
| Douf— melancholy, void of ani- 
mation 
'. Draff — brewers' grains, used for 

feeding swine, &c. 
j Draigled-bespattered with mire 
I Drap — a drop, to drop 
j Drapt — dropped 

Drappan— dropping 
1 Drawin near — approaching 

Dree — to bear, to endure 
j Dreein — suffering, enduring 
I Dreepin — dropping 
! Dreadfu' — dreadful 



©-- 



-® 



498 



GLOSSARY. 



Drogs — drugs 

Dribbling — drizzling 

Drucken — drunken 

Dryster — a person who has 
charge of the drying of grain 
on the heated plates of the 
kiln, preparatory to grinding 

Dwallin — dwelling 

Dyke — a wall inclosure 

Dyvour — a shabby tippling per- 
son, a bankrupt 

Eastlin — eastern 

E'e — the eye 

Een— the eyes 

E'en — even, evening 

E ening — e venin g 

Eerie— frighted 

Eerocks — chickens 

Eith — easy, easily 

Eild — old age 

Eldren — aged 

Eldritch— ghostly, frightfully 

Empron — eel, a lamprey 

En'— end 

Erls — earnest money 

Fa'— fall 

Fab— a fob 

Fac't — faced 

Faes — foes 

Faintive — faintly 

Fallow — fellow 

Fallow'd — followed 

Fan, fun— found 

Fa'n— fallen 

Farest — farthest 

Fash — to trouble 

Faut — want, fault 

Faught— fight 

Fearsome — frightful 

Feart — afraid 

Fegs — faith (an exclamation) 

Fell— keen, biting, vigorous 

Fenny — affording comfortable 

entertainment 
Fern-year — last year 
Ferly — a wonder 
Ferlies — wonders 
Fit— able, the foot 
Fit— mood, inclination, purpose 
Fiel'— field 
Fin — to find, found 
Fient — not one, none 
Fitches — moves 
Flate— did scold 
Fleean — flying 
Flee— to fly 
Fleech — to supplicate 
Flitherin— fluttering 



Flithert— fluttered, flew 
Flyte — to scold 
Flyting — scolding 
Flinners— broken pieces 
Flounge — to get into a passion, 

to flounder 
Flush — to have plenty 
Fother'd — foddered 
Fore (to the) — remaining 
Forgie — forgive 
Forgathered — met with 
Forret — forward 
Fore-doors — front-doors 
Fouk, fowk — folk 
Frae — from 
Frae's — from his 
Frien' — friend 
Frienly — friendly 
Frienless — friendless 
Fu'— full, fuddled, drunk 
Fug— moss 
Fuggy — mossy 
Fursday — Thursday 

Ga' — gall, to gall 

Gab — the mouth, to speak 

Gabby — talkative 

Ga't, gaw't — galled, harrassed 

Gae — to go 

Gaed— went 

Gane— gone 

Gang — go 

Gan, gaun — going 

Gat — got 

Gate — way 

Gant — to yawn 

Gars — makes, forces 

Gart — forced, made 

Gayen — very, quite 

Gavel — gable 

Gaucy, gawsey — jolly, large, 
healthy 

Gaunt — a yawn 

Gear — wealth, goods 

Get — a child 

Ghaist — ghost 

Gif — if, suppose, on condition 

Gif tie— diminutive of gift 

Gie — give 

Gied — gave 

Gie's — gave us, give us 

Gillie — diminutive of gill 

Gin — if, before, by, against 

Girn — to fret, to grin 

Girning, girnan — fretting, grin- 
ning, murmuring 

Girnt — grinned, fretted 

Girdle, girle — a circular plate 
of iron used for toasting bread 
over a fire 



=® 



®- 



-© 



GLOSSARY. 



49D 



©= 



Girt, grit— thick 

Grisle— gristle 

Gled— a kite, a hawk 

Gleg — sharp, ready 

Gleefu'— gleeful 

Glisterin— glittering 

Glibly-gabbet— readily given to 

.speaking 
Glimmerin— glimmering 
Glinted— peeped 
Glints — peeps 
Gloits — dolts 
Glowre — to gaze, to stare 
Glower'd, glowert — gazed, &rc. 
Glowerin — gazing 
Glowan — glowing 
Glowe — glow 
Gluts — bellyfuls, doses 
Gouk — a simpleton 
Gowk — a cuckoo 
Goustly — ghostly 
Goud, gowd — gold 
Gowden — golden 
Gowan — the field daisy 
Graip — a dung fork 
Graith — working utensils 
Grane — groan 
Graned — groaned 
Grannie — grandmother 
Graped — groped 
Grat, grutten — wept 
Gree — to agree 
Gree-praise, excellence; to bear 

the gree, to bear the bell 
Greeting, greetin — weeping 
Groo — to shudder with loathing 
Groosome — loathingly,frightful 
Grouping — groping 
Grun — ground 
Gude — the Almighty 
Guides !— Gods ! God guide us 
Gude, guid — good 
Gude wife — a wife 
Gude-for-naething — good for 

nothing 
Gurle — growl 
Gur led— gurgled 

Ha' — hall, a house 

Hade— did hide 

Hadna— had not 

Hae— have 

Ha'f-half 

Haftets— the sides of the head 

Haith— faith ! 

Halflins— half, nearly, partly 

Haill — whole 

Hainches — the sides of a person 

Hairns — a person's inside 

Hale — healthy 

2 F 



Halesale — wholesale 

Hallan — the outer door 

Haly — holy 

Hame — home 

Hamely — homely 

Hammart, hameart — relating 
or belonging to home 

Han, haun — the hand 

Hap — to cover, to hope 

Happet — covered, wrapped 

Happin — hoping 

Harnishes — part of a weaver's 
working utensils 

Harns — brains 

Harl— to drag 

Harled — dragged 

Hazel oil — a beating : so called 
from a hazel wand being often 
used as a rod of correction in 
the domestic circles 

Hash — a sloven 

Haud— to hold 

Hauds — holds 

Hault — drew, dragged 

Havings — breeding 

Hawkie — a cow 

Hech ! — a loud sigh 

Hecht — promised 

Heapet — heaped 

Hechin — using the exclamation 
hech I or sighing loudly 

Heeze — to lift up 

Hel'— held 

Help's — help us 

Herse — hearse 

Herdies — dim. of herds 

He's — he is 

Het— hot 

Heuk-an-creuk — by any means 

Hew — to cut 

Hie, heigh— high 

Himsel — himself 

Hinee — honey 

Hingan, hingin — hinging 

Hin'er-en— the latter end 

Hinmaist — the last 

Hinny-moon — honey-moon 

Hirpling — walking lamely 

Hog — shilling (a cant term) 

Hogmenae — the last night of 
the year 

Hools— husks 

Hotch— to move as if burdened 
with fatness 

Hotching — moving 

Howe — a hollow or dell 

Howk — to dig 

Homings — the name of a Scot- 
tish law paper 

Hunkerin— crouching 

3 



500 



GLOSSARY. 



Hunkert— crouched 

Huggert-taes— toes covered 
with old stockings 

Huggers— old stockings, coarse 
stockings without feet 

Hunners — hunders 

Hurlan — hurling 

Hurdies — the buttocks 

Huthron— hurridly, confusedly 

Hutch — an indefinite quantity 
of any heavy substance, vary- 
ing in weight in different 
shires in Scotland 

I'— in 

Ilk — each 

Ilka— every 

Ingle — fire, fire-place 

Ingon — onion 

Ither — other 

I'se — I shall 

Jatjnering — talking idly 
Jink — to turn suddenly 
Jinking — turning suddenly 

Kail — broth 
Kame — a comb 
Kechlin — cackling 
Kechan — yeast 
Keek — to peep 
Keekin — peeping 
Keepet — kept 
Ken — to know 
Kent, kend — known 
Kentna — knew not 
Kepp— a cap 
Kill— a kiln 
Kimmer — a woman 
Kinle — kindle 
Kintra, kintry— country 
Kippled — married 
Ki r nan-r un g — churn-s taff 
Kist— a chest 
Kittled— tickled 
Knoited— knocked 
Know es— small round hillocks 
Knuckled— put up with, en- 
dured 
Koots — the ankle bones 
Kusson — thrown 
Kyte— the stomach or belly 

Lade — a load 

Lade — a canal for leading wa- 
ter to turn a mill 
Lad'ent — loadened 
Laft— the loft 
Lallan-^lowland 
Lam'ies — dim. of lambs 



Lam'ies — an affectionate term 
for young children 

Lampet— took long steps while 
walking 

Lamping— taking long steps 

Lan, laun— land, a building 

Lang— long 

Lang-syne — long since 

Lane — lone 

Lanely — lonely 

Lap— to leap, jumped 

Lapfu's — lapfuls 

Lave (the)— the rest, the others 

Lavrocks — larks 

Lea' — leave 

Lear — learning 

Leathing— the lath 

Leatherin — a castigation 

Leein — telling lies 

Leel, leal — true, honest 

Leet— told lies 

Leugh— laughed 

Lift — the firmament 

Limmer — a strumpet 

Lin, linn — a deep pool, cataract 

Lingle — shoemakers' thread, 
straps of the pack 

Listed — enlisted 

Lizures — selvages 

Lo'es — loves 

Lo'ed — loved 

Loof— the palm of the hand 

Looves — plural of loof 

Loot — did let, permitted 

Loup — to leap 

Louped — leaped 

Loups— Jeaps 

Loutin— stooping 

Louts — stoops 

Lounder — a hard blow 

Lowins — whiskey of the first 
distillation 

Lowse — loose 

Lowst — loosened 

Lozens — window panes 

Lucky— a landlady 

Lug — the ear 

Luk, leuk— to look 

Lum — chimney 

Lummer — lumber 

Lumple — a word of no mean- 
ing, evidently coined and em- 
ployed by the author for the 
sake of the rhyme ; however, 
the word tumble, or even 
limp, might be made the trans- 
lation of it. 

Mae, mair — more 
Maist — most 



v© 



®= 



GLOSSARY. 



501 



Mat — to make 

Maks — makes 

Maksna — matters not 

Malefactor — manufacturer 

Man — manasre 

Ma't — may it 

Maukin — a hare 

Maul— to beat, to murder 

Maun — must 

Maunna — must not 

Maunt— managed 

Maybe — perhaps 

Midden, midding — a dunghill 

Mill— to steal 

Mind— recollect 

Mirk — dark 

Misca'd — miscalled 

Mist — missed 

Mi t her — mother 

Mirle — speckled and spotted 

Mony — many 

Mouthfu' — mouthful 

Mort-claith — a piece of black 
cloth, fringed at the edges, 
which covers the coffin when 
carried to the church-yard 

Muckle, mickle — great, much 

Mumling — mumbling 

Mounting — part of a weaver's 
working materials 

Na — no, not, nor 

Nae — not, no, neither 

Nane — none 

Naething — nothing 

Nainsels — a term for the High- 
landers 

Needna — need not 

Xeibors, neibours — neighbours 

Neer-do-weel — never do well 

Neuks — corners, nooks 

New-fangled— fond of a new 
thing, much taken up with it 

Nick-nacks — gimcracks 

Nieve — the hand closed 

Norlan— Northern 

Nowt — black cattle 

Num'er— number 



O'— of 

Od ! — how strange ! 
Ony — any 
On'ts — on its 
O't— of it 
Ouk — week 
Owre, ower — over 
Oxtering — bearing something 
under the arm-pits 



Painches — bowels, entrails 
Paper-spot — name of a kind of 

cloth 
Paritch — a very common dish 
in Scotland, made of oatmeal 
boiled in water or milk 
Pash— the head 
Pass — state 
Pate — the head 
Paughty — haughty, proud 
Pawky — sly, artful, cunning 
Pawkly, paukly — slyly 
Pechin — panting 
Petticoats — name of a kind of 

cloth 
Pich — pitch, black 
Pin, pooking-pin, pluck-stick — 
a short, round, smooth piece 
of wood with which the weav- 
er plys the shuttle 
Pirn — the reed or quill within a 
weaver's shuttle round which 
the yarn or weft is wound 
Pith— strength 
Plackless — without money 
Plainstones — a pavement 
Planting — a wood, plantation 
Plash — to wade with a plung- 
ing noise 
i Pleugh — plough 
; Peerie— a child's plaything, a 

kind of top 
! Peepet — peeped 
Pocks — bags 
Pouch — a pocket 
Poucht — pocketed 
Pow, powe — the head 
Poortith — poverty 
Poon, poind— distrain for debt 
Prent, print — printed 
Prest — urged 
Pricket — marked 
Prins — pins 
Puir — poor 
| Pu's — pulls 
I Punds — pounds 
I Pussy — a hare, a cat 
Putten — put, forced 

Qjtat— quit 



Packs [in] —flocks 



©-- 



Rade — rode 

Raise — rose 

Ram't— thrust 

Raps — knocks, blows 

Rake — an indefinite quantity of 

water, as much as is carried 

away at one time 
Raw — row 
Ranket — in rows 
2 f4 



© 



=@ 



502 



GLOSSARY. 



Rax — to reach, to stretch 
Ree — half drunk, stupified from 

excess of joy 
Reek — smoke 
Reekt — reached 
Reekie— EDINBURGH 
Reek in— smoking 
Rigging — the ridge of a house 
Ringe — a quick fall , a rattling 

noise 
Ribs — bars of a fire-grate 
Rin— to run 
Rinnin — running 
Rink— the course of the stone 

in curling 
Rock, roke — the distaff 
Roun' — round 
Rowe— to roll, to wrap 
Rowes— rolls 
Rowan — rolling 
Rown — mountain-ash berry 
Rowet — rolled, wrapped 
Rumle — to rumble 
Rumlin— rumbling 
Rumple — the rump 
Rung — a stick, a cudgel 
Runkly — wrinkly, wrinkled 
Run — a rivulet 

Sabs — sobs 

Sabbing— sobbing 

Sae — so 

Safs ! — save us ! 

Saft— soft 

Sa'r, saur — a smell, a savour 

Sair — sore 

Sairt, seert — served 

San-blin— sand-blind, short- 
sighted 

Sal-shall 

Sauted — salted 

Saul — soul 

Saws and barrels — weavers' ma- 
chines 

Sawing — a technical term in 
the business of the currier 

Sax — six 

Saxty— sixty 

Saxpence — sixpence 

Scant — scarce 

Seances — scans 

Scart — to scratch 

Scarting — scratching 

Scaul, scauld — to scold 

Scawling — scolding 

Scat — scabbed 

Scons, scones— thin soft flour 
cakes 

Scower — to clean, to scrub 

Scoury, scowery — shabby 



Scounr el— scoundrel 

Scrieve — to glide swiftly 

Scunner — to feel disgust 

Sel'— self 

Seeping — soaking 

Seeps — soaks 

Sen — send 

Set — sect, sort 

Shaw — a small wood in a hol- 
low place 

Shoon — shoes 

Shanket — departed 

Shoelin — shuffling 

Shoolf'u' — shovelful 

Shored — threatened loudly 

Screech — to scream 

Screeching — screaming 

Shouther — shoulder 

Sic, siccan — such 

Sicker — sure 

Siller — money, silver 

Simmer — summer 

Sin — the sun 

Sinny — sunny 

Sinty — seventy 

Sinfu' — sinful 

Skelf— shelf 

Skelpet — beaten 

Skelpin — beating 

Skift — skipped 

Skiffin — skipping 

Skillie— skilful 

Skirl — to scream shrilly 

Skirling — screaming shrilly 

Skirls — wild screams 

Skeigh — spirited 

Skinklin, skinklan — sparkling 
and shining 

Skit — a blow 

Sklate — slate 

Skrewt — screwed 

Skyle — to scatter 

Skytchers — skaters, skates 

Slairy'd— bedaubed, slabbered 

Slaw — slow 

Slee — sly 

Sleekit— glossy 

Sled— slade 

Sleepit, sleepet — slept 

Sma* — small 

Smo'ering — smothering 

Snaw, sna' — snow 

Snawy — snowy 

Sna-bas— snow-balls 

Snecks — latches 

Snell — severe, keen, cold 

Snellest— bitterest, most unfor- 
tunate 

Sneeran — sneering 

Soud — should 



© 



=® 



GLOSSARY. 



503 



Soun' — sound 

So oil's — soon as 

Sonsy— lucky, jolly 

Soncier — more jolly 

Soom — to swim 

Sowing-brod — a board upon 
which weavers mix and beat 
their dressing or paste 

Sowins— a dish made of the 
finest of oatmeal steeped or 
soured in water and oatmeal 
seeds 

Sogers— soldiers 

Souching — a low mournful 
sound dying on the ear, like 
the sighing or moaning of the 
wind through a wood 

Sowther — to solder 

Spat — spot 

Spate — a flood, inundation 

Spale — a spell of words 

Spak — spoke 

Spavie — the spavin 

Specks — spectacles 

Speel — to climb 

Speelt — climbed 

Speeling — climbing 

Speer — to ask, to enquire 

Speert — asked 

Spen — spend 

Spoulin, spoutan— ejecting 

Span — spun 

Stack — did stick 

Stan — stand 

Stanes— stones 

Stane dyke— a stone inciosure 

Starns — stars 

Stappet — stopped, filled 

Stap— to fill, to stop 

Steek — to shut, to silence 

Steekit — shut, closed 

Steering — moving, stirring 

Steers — moves, shifts 

Sten — spring, leap 

Steching — panting, groaning for 
want of breath 

Stinning — standing 

Stoor — boisterous noise 

Stoup— a kind of high narrow 
jug or dish, with a handle and 
lid, for holding liquids, mostly 
whiskey 

Stoupfu — the full of a stoup 

S to; ted — stumbled 

Streekit — stretched 

Staucherin — staggering 

Stab— a stake 

Slaps — steps 

Strang — strong 

Strac — straw 



Stells— stills 

Stieve, steeve— firm, full 

Stievely — firmly 

Stenchers — stanchels 

Spunkie— Will-o'-the-wisp 

Spreadan — spreading 

Squattert— fluttered in water 

like a wild duck 
Squeels — screams 
Swankie — a strippling, youth 
S wait— Swelled 
Swirled — whirled 
Swack — whack, forcible throw 
Swith — quickly, swift 
S wither — to hesitate 
Swearan — swearing 
Sweert, sweer — unwilling, 

averse to 
Syne — then, soon, afterwards 
Synt — washed 

Taes— Toes 

Tafts — cot houses 

Tak— take 

Tanle — bonfire 

Tangs — tongs 

Tattert— torn 

Tap — top 

Tauld— told 

Tel'— tell it 

Temples — part of a weaver's 

loom 
Tent — to observe 
Tenty — carefully, cautiously 
Thae — these, those 
Thack— thatch 
Thou'se— thou wilt 
Thegither — together 
Than— then 
They're— they are 
Thinkna— think not 
Thirsels, themsels — themselves 
Thir— these 

Thole— to bear, to endure 
Tholt — suffered, endured 
Thowe — to thaw 
Thrang — throng, busy 
Thraw — to twist, to bow 
Thrawn — twisted, ill-natured 
Thrawart — cross-tempered 
Thronie — dim. of throne 
Thumle — thimble 
Thuner — thunder 
Thretty— thirty 
Thudden — beating, trembling 
Tither— the other 
Till't— to it 
Tim'er — timber 
Tine— to Lose 
Tout— to sound 
p5 



-a 



=d 



504 



GLOSSARY. 



Toom— to empty 

Toothfu — a moderate quantity 
of liquor 

Towmonds — twelve months 

Trampet, tramped— walked 

Trampin — walking 

Tremlin— trembling 

Trimly — nicely 

Trig — handsome, neat 

Troke— things lying confusedly 
on the floor, such as shoes, 
clothes, &c. 

Trance— an entrance to a 'dwel- 
ling-house 

Trow — believe 

Truntlet— rolled 

Trouth— troth 

Tum't — emptied 

Twygle-twygle-«these words are 
meant to imitate the sound 
made by a door, when opened 
or shut, which is loaded with 
a weight, suspended by a rope 
over a pully, to make the door 
shut 

Twittert— twittered 

Twa— two 

Twall — twelve 

Tyke — a dog 

Tyken — a strong striped cloth 
for beds and bolsters 

Tyning — losing 

Ugsome— loathful 
Upo' — upon 
Unco — very, extremely 
Unhanty— unhandy 

Verra — very 

Wa- wall 
Wabs — webs 
Wabster— a weaver 
Woud— would 
Wad — wager, would 
Wae — woe 

Wae-be-tiPt — woe be to it 
Waes— alas ! oh the pity ! 
Waefu' — woeful 
Waft— weft 
Wall— the well 
Wallet— bundle 
Wame— the belly 
Wans— wands, twigs 
Was't — was it 
War, waur — were 
Warld, warl — world 
Warldly — worldly 
Warstle — wresth' 
Wast— west 



Wark — work 

Warlock — a wizzard 

Wat — wot 

Wauk — to walk 

Waukens — wakens 

Waukent — wakened 

Wauket — thickened, as fullers 

do cloth 
Wunner — wonder 

fee— little, short 
eans — children 
eet — water, rain 

Weanies — dim. of weans 

Weel — well 

Weel-a-wat — well I wot 

We'se — we shall 

Wha — who 

Whase — whose 

Whan — when 

Whang — to cut 

Whauks — lumps 

Whar — where 

Whar-a-wa's — where about is 

Wheese — fleech, wheedle 

Whilk, whulk— which 

Whinge — whine, mourn 

Whisht — be silent, silence 

Whitret — a weasle 

Whum'le — an auger 

Whyllie— artfully, slyly 

Whyles, whiles — sometimes 

Wi' — with 

Win — wind 

Wins — winds 

Winna — will not 

Win out— managed out 

Winnock — window 

Winnock-sole — window-sill 

Wimplan — purling 

Wishy-washy — tasteless 

Winles — a machine for winding 
the weaver's yarn on pirns, 
preparatory to weaving 

Wonert — wondered 

Wonrous — wondrous 

Wordy — worthy 

Woudna — would not 

Wow !— an acclamation of Joy, 
surprise 

Wrack— wreck 

Wud — nearly mad, a wood 

Wrang — wrong 

Yaummers — murmurs 

Ycr — your 

Yellochan — crying in distress 

Yowling — howling 

Yestreen — yesternight 

Yett, yate — a jjate 

Yill— ale, beer 






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